H  E  S  P  E  R 


K 


BY 


HAMLIN  GARLAND 

AUTHOR  OF 
'THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  GRAY- HORSE  TROOP"  ETC. 


New  York 

GROSSET   &   DUNLAP 
Publishers 


Contents 

CHAPTER 

XX.  ANN  SENDS  PEABODY  AWAY 289 

XXI.  RAYMOND  RECEIVES  VISITORS 305 

XXII.  RAYMOND  MEETS  ANN  AGAIN 321 

XXIII.  Louis  CALLS  FOR  ANN 34i 

XXIV.  ANN  RETURNS  TO  SKY-TOWN 356 

XXV.  A  DAY  OF  ACTION 3So 

XXVI.  A  LAST  APPEAL 38S 

XXVII.  HESPER 406 

XXVIII.  RAYMOND  SILENCES  MUNRO 4" 

XXIX.  ANN'S  NEW  PHILOSOPHY 418 

XXX.  MUNRO'S  LAST  WORD 428 

XXXI.  ANN  RETURNS  TO  NEW  YORK     .......  43* 


Hesper 


The    Emigrants 


NEARLY  the  entire  boat-load  of  passengers  was 
jammed  along  the  forward  gates,  ready  to  spring 
out  upon  the  Jersey  wharf,  restive  to  reach  the  wait 
ing  trains.  But  quite  apart  from  all  these  whose  faces 
were  set  westward,  three  people — a  girl,  a  man  nearing 
forty,  and  a  slim  lad — lingered  on  the  after-deck  as 
though  loath  to  take  their  leave  of  the  imperial  city 
whose  singular  sky-line  was  becoming  each  moment 
more  impressive,  more  unaccountable  to  those  who 
were  looking  upon  it  for  the  first  time. 

As  the  big  barge  drew  out  into  mid -stream,  the 
wharfs,  the  four -story  tenements,  and  the  business 
blocks  rose  in  dim  terraces,  one  behind  the  other,  till 
the  highest  of  them  all  loomed  like  the  crest  of  a  mist- 
hid  mesa,  and  the  lights  in  the  dusk  of  the  lower  levels 
allured  like  camp-fires  in  the  deeps  of  wooded  vales, 
while  between  the  little  group  on  the  stern  of  the  boat 
and  this  smoke-hid  range  of  mysterious  peaks  the  cold, 
gray  water  rolled,  ever  widening,  menacing,  inexorable 
as  death  in  its  power  to  divide  the  fortunes  of  men. 
»  i 


,T 

Hesper 

The  resemblance  of 'this  monstrous  hive  of  human 
kind  to  a  height  of  land  was  so  marked,  so  singular, 
that  the  girl  remarked  upon  it,  and  the  boy,  a  pale 
lad  of  seventeen,  cried  out,  in  shrill  staccato, 

"Yes;  but  think  of  the  real  mountains  we're  going 
to  climb!" 

The  girl  did  not  speak  for  a  moment,  and  when  she 
did  her  voice  was  distinctly  sorrowful.  "I  feel  as 
though  I  were  saying  good-bye  to  everything  worth 
while." 

"Including  me?"  asked  her  escort. 

She  did  not  smile,  but  her  accent  was  kindly  as  she 
answered,  "Yes,  Wayne,  including  you." 

"Oh,  sis,  you  make  me  tired!"  cried  the  boy.  "Just 
as  if  going  West  were  bidding  good-bye  to  everything!" 
He  beat  his  thin  chest.  "I'm  just  beginning  to  live, 
now.  I'm  glad  to  get  away  from  the  stuffy  old  town. 
I  want  to  see  something  besides  Fifth  Avenue  and  Cen 
tral  Park." 

Wayne  Peabody  laughed  good-naturedly  down  at 
the  boy.  "  You  wouldn't  care  if  civilization  did 
stop  at  the  west  bank  of  the  Hudson  River,  would 
you?" 

"  I  should  say  not.  I'm  tired  of  it  all — the  noise  and 
the  pavements  and  the  heat  and  the  wetness.  I  want 
to  get  out  where  the  wolves  and  the  cranes  and  the 
cow-boys  are;  I  want  to  hit  the  trail  and  find  where 
father's  camps  were." 

Ann  smiled  a  little.  "All  of  that  we've  heard  before, 
Louis.  Wayne  knows  all  about  your  ambitions." 

The  city  was  by  this  time  a  vast,  blue  bank  of  cloud, 
an  indefinite  mass,  out  of  which  only  the  larger  lamps 
still  dimly  shone.  It  might  have  been  a  mining-town 

2 


The    Emigrants 

scattered  along  a  hill-side.  Around  the  Hopatcong, 
scuttling  to  and  fro,  other  deep-laden  craft  were  ply 
ing  like  prodigious  water  -  beetles,  confusing  to  the 
spectator,  yet  pursuing  each  his  predestined  course, 
palpitating  with  power,  thronged  with  other  human 
beings  eager  to  find  rest  and  shelter  for  the  night. 

The  girl  spoke  musingly.  "  It's  singular,  but  I  have 
a  premonition  of  some  dark  fate — some  vague  sorrow. 
I  never  felt  so  before — not  even  on  my  trip  to  Egypt. 
If  I  don't  come  back  I  want  you  to  note  that  I  was 
forewarned." 

Peabody  smiled.  "  That  isn't  very  flattering  to 
the  West.  You  will  not  find  a  desert  waste  exactly, 
even  in  Valley  Springs.  There  are  some  millions  of 
people  between  here  and  there — " 

"But  such  people!  Just  a  welter  of  commonplace 
personalities.  The  more  we  have  of  such  creatures 
the  worse  for  our  country." 

"  You're  a  little  severe.  There  are  a  few  common 
place  personalities  on  our  little  island."  He  nodded 
at  the  receding  city.  "  I  fear  I  shall  find  it  an  espe 
cially  dreary  collection  to-night  as  I  go  back  to  jostle 
elbows  with  them,  while  you  are  being  carried  out  of 
my  reach." 

His  attempt  to  make  a  personal  application  of  her 
own  misgiving  silenced  the  girl,  and  as  her  brother 
cried  out,  imperiously,  "Come,  let's  go  forward!"  she 
turned  with  a  sigh  and  followed  him. 

Peabody  remarked,  in  a  low  voice:  "  Louis  is  trans 
formed  already.  It  will  do  him  all  kinds  of  good  to 
go  West." 

"I  hope  so,"  she  replied,  rather  drearily;  "but  he 
seems  unwholesomely  excited  at  the  present  moment.1' 

3 


Hesper 

"He'll  get  over  that." 

"  I  fear  he  will  be  disappointed.  Father's  trip  was 
made  nearly  twenty -five  years  ago,  when  it  was  a 
really  wonderful  land." 

"  He  is  young.     He  will  reimagine  it." 

The  boy  stood  like  some  beautiful  animal  poised 
for  a  spring  as  the  ferry  shouldered  its  clumsy  way 
into  the  Jersey  dock.  He  was  of  less  bulk  than  his 
strong,  composed,  modish  sister,  and  his  face  was  as 
dark,  as  mobile,  and  as  eager  as  hers  was  fair  and 
impassive.  Peabody  experienced  once  again  a  twinge 
of  keen  regret  that  Ann  had  not  some  of  her  brother's 
radiant  enthusiasm. 

Surrounded  by  porters  and  wearing  an  air  of  com 
mand,  Louis  led  the  way  to  the  sleeping-car,  impatient 
of  his  sister's  deliberation.  On  one  hip  he  carried  a 
pair  of  large  field-glasses,  and  over  the  other  a  costly 
camera,  while  half-concealed  cases  of  pencils  and  pads 
of  drawing-paper  bulging  from  his  pockets  announced 
his  artistic  intention.  He  was  comically  prepared  to 
"jot  down"  at  a  moment's  notice  any  wild  man  or 
animal  he  might  encounter,  or  any  good  story  he 
might  hear. 

As  the  time  for  the  train  to  start  drew  near,  Pea- 
body  strove  to  win  some  softer  word  from  Ann ;  but 
she  was  not  of  those  who  manifest  emotion  —  her 
training  and  her  temperament  were  alike  opposed 
to  easy  expression.  When  he  tried  to  take  her  hand 
a  second  time,  with  eyes  that  entreated,  she  re 
coiled. 

"  No!     No!     You  have  no  right  to  expect  that!" 

He  was  no  longer  a  boy,  and  he  was  bred  to  self- 
control;  therefore,  though  his  voice  trembled  a  little, 

4 


The    Emigrants 

he  spoke  quietly.    "  Good-bye,  Ann.    Write  every  day, 
won't  you?" 

In  a  voice  which  chilled  him,  she  replied:  "Every 
day  is  pretty  often — but  you  will  hear  from  me.  Go 
and  see  mother,  please.  She  will  not  say  so,  but  she 
will  be  glad  to  have  you  come." 

"Depend  upon  me,"  he  said,  lifting  his  hat.  His 
bearded  face  betrayed  no  emotion,  but  his  eyes  were 
hot  with  pain  and  grief.  How  cold  and  unresponsive 
she  had  been,  and  how  desirable  she  was! 

The  girl,  on  her  part,  felt  a  sudden  twinge  of  re 
morse  as  she  left  him  there,  a  fine,  strong,  manly  suitor, 
who  uttered  no  complaint  though  she  wounded  him. 
The  twitching  of  his  lips  troubled  her,  but  she  did 
not  relent.  In  her  heart  she  said:  "  I  can't  help  it — 
it  isn't  in  me.  He  shouldn't  ask  it." 

Louis  threw  himself  flat  on  the  couch  in  their 
state-room  and  said,  boyishly:  "  Gee!  we're  off  at  last. 
Now  let  her  whiz.  This  old  train  can't  go  fast  enough 
for  me." 

Looking  down  at  him  at  that  moment,  Ann's  bosom 
swelled  with  an  emotion  almost  maternal.  How 
thin  he  is,"  she  thought,  as  her  eyes  took  in  his  slight 
body.  "  I'll  go;  I'll  do  anything  for  him— if  only  he 
can  grow  strong  and  well." 

She  loved  that  slender  lad,  and  assumed  for  him  a 
greater  weight  of  care  and  hope  and  fear  than  for  any 
other  human  being.  He  was  so  like  his  father— the 
soul  restless  as  flame,  the  slender  body  racked,  worn 
with  endless  enthusiasms,  the  burning,  mesmeric  eyes 
and  the  delicate  mouth.  All  these  she  had  known  and 
valued  in  her  father,  and  when  the  doctor  seriously 
advised  the  Rocky  Mountains  she  readily  gave  up  her 

5 


Hesper 

own  plans — and  here  and  now  she  sat,  rushing  tow 
ards  the  West,  to  a  town  as  repulsive  to  her  as 
Hoboken  or  Coney  Island,  a  place  of  emptiness  and 
weariness,  a  social  desert,  where  no  one  lived  but  her 
cousins  the  Barnetts,  to  whose  hospitable  door  they 
were  bound  as  voyagers  on  a  wide  sea  to  a  snug  har 
bor —  without  that  home,  as  a  point  of  arrival,  she 
would  have  been  in  such  uncertainty  of  mind  as 
besets  a  sailor  on  a  chartless  sea. 

Her  patriotism  was  not  excessive,  even  when  con 
fined  to  New  York.  Patriotism  was  to  her  a  word  of 
small  weight.  Hers  had  been  a  narrow  life — narrow 
without  being  intense — and  she  knew  little  of  her  na 
tive  city;  and  as  for  the  great  inland  valley  towns, 
they  were  unworthy  of  mention  even  in  a  jest.  It 
did  not  matter  to  her  whether  the  States  contained 
one  or  a  hundred  millions  of  people.  They  had  no 
distinction  —  and  distinction  was  a  great  word  with 
Ann  Rupert.  The  only  personalities  worth  while  were 
necessarily  in  the  East.  "  And  yet,"  she  was  accus 
tomed  to  add,  "  New  York  is  a  village  compared  to 
London.  There  is  but  one  really  satisfactory  city,  and 
that  is  Paris." 

Louis  held  hot  arguments  with  her  on  all  these 
points,  but  they  usually  ended  in  substantial  agree 
ment  that  Paris  possessed  all  that  was  really  worth 
while  in  art,  but  was  sadly  lacking  in  mountains, 
wild  animals,  Indians,  and  cow-boys,  for  which  he 
had  developed  a  most  unreasoning  passion.  He  was 
all  for  the  free,  untrodden  spaces,  the  primitive  types. 
He  longed  to  companion  those  who  approached  the 
bear  in  strength,  the  wolf  in  cunning,  and  the  antelope 
in  lightness  of  foot. 

6 


The    Emigrants 

In  listening  to  this  conversation  a  stranger  would 
not  have  suspected  Ann  of  fervent  self-sacrifice — 
she  was  so  calm,  so  cold,  so  irreproachable  in  every 
line — an(i  yet  she  was  making  this  abhorrent  trip  in 
order  that  her  brother  might  thrive  in  his  physical 
well-being  as  well  as  in  his  art.  He  had  recently 
determined  on  being  an  illustrator  of  wild -animal 
books.  "  I'm  going  to  study  them  at  first  hand,"  he 
repeated  often,  "  the  way  Melborn  Foster  has  done. 
And,  besides,  I  want  to  illustrate  father's  journal." 
This  journal,  the  record  of  a  trip  into  the  West  made 
by  Philip  Rupert  before  his  marriage,  had  come  to 
be  the  most  powerful  influence  in  the  lad's  life.  It 
was  a  worn,  little  red  book  in  which  the  father  had 
written  the  daily  happenings  and  impressions  of  his 
trip  and  its  discovery  by  Louis,  in  a  box  of  old  papers, 
had  quite  transformed  his  life.  It  had  made  him  an 
American,  filling  him  with  a  longing  for  the  "  Hesperean 
Mountains,"  as  the  father  called  the  romantic  land  he 
had  seen  but  once,  but  whose  splendor  lived  with  him 
throughout  the  remainder  of  his  short  life. 

As  they  sat  at  table  in  the  dining-car,  Ann  again 
listened  indulgently  to  her  brother's  plans,  and  per 
mitted  him  to  order  the  dinner  and  assume  all  the 
manners  of  a  grown  man,  honestly  trying  to  conceal 
her  own  weariness  of  spirit,  sincerely  regretful  of  her 
bitter  words  on  the  ferry. 

Louis  was  not  weary ;  he  eyed  every  man  who  came 
in,  avid  to  discover  some  Western  trait,  some  outward 
sign  of  inward  difference  between  himself  and  his 
companions,  but  could  not.  They  were  all  quite 
commonplace  business  men,  well  dressed,  close-clipped, 
and  urbane  of  manner.  Some  of  them  were  evidently 

7 


Hesper 

salesmen  going  over  to  Philadelphia  or  out  to  Chicago, 
and  they  all  ate  long  and  with  every  evidence  of  en 
joyment.  Some  of  the  women  were  young  and  pretty 
— students  returning  to  the  West  for  their  summer 
vacations. 

Once  more  in  the  privacy  of  her  state-room  and 
looking  out  at  the  landscape  reeling  past,  Ann  sank 
back  in  her  seat  wholly  dismayed.  "What  in  the 
world  can  I  do  out  there?"  she  asked  herself,  most 
poignantly.  "  Of  course  they  don't  play  golf  or  tennis, 
and  I  can't  ride;  and,  besides,  whom  could  I  play  with? 
Jeannette  is  not  a  bit  athletic."  And  again  the  small 
round  of  her  interests — she  had  no  gayeties — was  borne 
in  upon  her.  "I  shall  die  of  inactivity." 

Louis  excused  himself  quite  formally  and  went  back 
into  the  smoking  compartment  to  sit  with  the  men, 
while  Ann,  left  alone,  gave  herself  up  to  a  close,  half- 
ironic  study  of  the  absurdity  of  her  position.  With  a 
dozen  most  desirable  invitations  to  distinguished  Lon 
don  homes,  with  everything  before  her  that  a  girl  of 
her  age  and  tastes  could  desire,  she  had  turned  away 
to  face  the  crude  conditions  of  a  Western  State  in  a 
warm  glow  of  sisterly  affection;  but  now  with  Louis 
deserting  her  for  the  nondescript  crowd  of  men  in  the 
smoking-room,  her  flame  of  duty  began  to  flicker  and 
to  emit  smoke.  "Why  not  Switzerland? — or  the  Ad- 
irondacks?  Either  would  have  done  as  well  for  him," 
she  thought;  but  added:  "No,  they  would  not.  Noth 
ing  but  the  Rocky  Mountains  will  satisfy  him,  now 
that  he  has  the  journal.  I  can  only  hope  that  this 
enthusiasm  will  die  out  like  the  rest ;  only,  the  trip  must 
do  him  good." 

She  took  up  the  little  red  book,  in  which  she  had 

8 


The    Emigrants 

taken  only  a  languid  interest  before,  and,  turning  the 
leaves  at  random,  fell  upon  bits  of  description  that 
stirred  her  unaccountably.  Now  that  she  was  about  to 
enter  this  land  of  her  father's  delight,  the  words  took 
on  passion  and  power.  Why  should  unknown  rivers 
and  endless  forests  and  high,  lonely  valleys  so  allure 
a  man?  Where  did  this  singular  passion  spring  from? 
Was  it  a  reversal  to  his  pioneer  grandsires  ? 

Louis  came  back  to  her,  much  excited. 

"Sis,  there  is  a  man  in  there  who  has  a  mine  in  New 
Mexico.  He  wants  us  to  visit  his  camp  when  we  get 
time.  He  says  there's  a  mine  in  Colorado  so  high  up 
that  you  can  only  bring  the  ore  down  by  an  'aerial 
tramway.'  Jupiter!  but  I  would  like  to  see  that!  I 
told  him  about  the  places  father  wrote  about,  and  he 
says  he  knows  lots  of  'em." 

"You  are  over-exciting  yourself,  boy,"  she  said,  se 
verely.  "Now  you  lie  down  and  be  quiet  for  a  while. 
The  bad  air  has  started  you  coughing." 

When  she  used  that  tone  he  generally  obeyed,  and, 
stretching  himself  out  on  the  couch  opposite  her,  he 
pretended  to  rest,  eying  her  abstractedly. 

Perceiving  his  disappointment,  she  asked,  gently, 
"Was  he  a  Colorado  man?" 

His  tone  showed  a  little  disgust.  "No;  he  lives  in 
Pittsburg;  but  he's  been  all  over  the  Rockies,"  he 
added  in  qualification. 

"Well,  never  mind;  you'll  see  Western  men  with 
stories  all  day  to-morrow." 

For  a  year  or  two  this  high-bred,  excitable  lad  had 
been  reading  every  obtainable  book  which  treated  of 
cow-boys  and  miners.  He  had  read  and  remembered 
all  the  stories  by  Welland  and  Ridgely  and  Gough — 

9 


Hesper 

he  knew  every  illustrator  of  the  wild  life,  and  had  come 
to  believe  that  the  entire  West  swarmed  with  long 
haired  desperadoes  and  lonesome  men  in  chase  of 
splendid  wild  animals.  "  After  we  leave  Chicago  we'll 
meet  'em,"  he  said.  "You  know  father  says  'the 
West  begins  at  Chicago.'  All  this  country  is  East," 
and  he  went  to  sleep  early  in  order  to  be  up  at  dawn 
to  meet  the  real  West. 

They  woke  next  morning  in  Ohio;  and  as  they  sat 
at  breakfast,  Ann,  looking  out  on  the  nameless  lit 
tle  towns  whizzing  backward  in  a  blur  of  clanging 
switch -gongs,  shuddered  and  cried  out,  "Think  of 
living  here!" 

The  boy  was  reflective.  "Pretty  slow,  aren't  they? 
But  it's  different  on  the  other  side  of  Chicago." 

"  Oh,  of  course.  No  one  would  want  to  come  here — 
not  even  a  crazy  boy  like  you,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  he 
could  not  quite  fathom. 

He  was  disposed  to  be  generous,  even  towards  Ohio. 
"This  isn't  so  bad.  It  looks  a  little  like  Surrey;  don't 
you  think  so?" 

As  the  morning  wore  on,  Ann  settled  down  to  her 
reading,  refusing  to  look  out  even  once  upon  the  land 
scape.  She  ate  her  lunch  in  gloomy  silence,  and  even 
the  boy's  spirits  began  to  flag.  "  I  wish  this  old  train 
ran  two  miles  a  minute,"  he  grumbled.  "I  want  to 
reach  the  Hesperean  Mountains." 

"They  will  wait  for  us,"  replied  Ann. 

They  arrived  in  Chicago  behind  their  schedule  time, 
and  had  but  a  few  minutes  in  which  to  make  their 
transfer,  and  so  they  saw  little  of  the  great  central 
metropolis.  To  them  it  was  only  a  gloomy,  clangor 
ous  shed,  fitted  with  long  strings  of  railway  coaches  all 

10 


The    Emigrants 

marked  with  strange  names — names  that  meant  little 
to  her,  but  which  excited  Louis  almost  to  tears.  "  See," 
he  cried,  "there  is  a  car  from  Oregon  and  one  from 
Wyoming!"  The  people  who  filled  the  coaches  were  not 
markedly  different  at  first  glance  from  those  she  had 
been  travelling  with;  but  Louis,  more  keenly  discern 
ing,  began  to  distinguish  types  at  once,  and  when  one 
or  two  big  men  came  in  wearing  wide  hats  and  chin 
beards,  he  trembled  with  joy.  "There  are  some  cattle 
men — I'm  sure  of  it,"  he  whispered,  hoarsely. 

A  crowd  of  laughing  college  girls  blew  in,  half  filling 
the  car.  Some  of  them  were  going  home  from  school, 
and  the  others  were  classmates  bidding  them  good-bye. 
They  were  very  gay,  very  lovely,  and  very  fervent,  and 
Ann,  looking  upon  them,  recalled  that  she  once  looked 
like  that.  A  little  hush  fell  on  the  group  as  one  of  them 
said,  with  a  little  catch  in  her  voice,  "Girls,  when  will 
we  seven  meet  again?" 

In  that  hush  came  thoughts  of  courtship,  marriage, 
death — and  the  first  chill  touch  of  Time's  inexorable 
hand.  They  would  never  meet  again.  Two  would, 
three  might,  but  four  or  five— no— they  were  parting 
forever — some  of  them.  Their  sweet,  careless  faces 
clouded;  tears  sprang  to  their  laughing  eyes.  For 
some  of  them  womanhood  and  duty — that  is  to  say, 
life — began  at  that  moment.  To  them  Ann  was  no 
longer  young. 

At  length  one  of  them,  irrepressible  of  spirit,  cried 
out,  in  jocular,  defiant  way,  "Why,  how  solemn  we  all 
are!  This  is  not  a  funeral."  And  then  their  birdlike 
chatter  broke  forth  again;  but  it  was  no  longer  care 
lessly  gay,  it  was  forced,  spasmodic.  With  kisses  and 
tears  they  parted,  while  Ann,  letting  her  book  fall  in 

ii 


Hesper 

her  lap,  attained  a  new  realization  that  her  own  careless 
girlhood  was  over.  "I  used  to  feel  things  like  that," 
she  said  to  herself.  "Now  I  neither  love  nor  hate," 
and  her  thought  of  Wayne  Peabody  had  no  glow  of 
tenderness  in  it. 

Louis  did  not  return  to  the  Pullman  till  after  the 
train  had  left  the  city,  and  she  was  just  beginning  to 
wonder  thereat,  when  he  came  in  with  eyes  ablaze. 
"I've  struck  'em  at  last,"  he  fairly  shouted  in  her  ear. 
"  They're  all  up  in  the  reclining-chairs.  Chin-bearders, 
spitters,  and  all.  I'm  just  crazy  to  sketch  two  or  three 
of  them.  It  don't  pay  to  ride  in  a  state-room  if  you 
want  to  see  types,"  he  ended,  in  conclusive  discon 
tent. 

"You  can  go  and  ride  among  the  'spitters,'  what 
ever  they  may  be,  but  you  can't  expect  me  to  do  so." 

"Of  course  not.  But  there  are  two  men  up  there 
that  are  stories.  One  has  his  whiskers  cut  exactly  like 
Alkali  Ike — you  know  what  I  mean — to  make  his  mus 
tache  look  fierce.  I'm  going  to  tackle  him  later.  He's 
just  what  I  need  to  illustrate  my  story  of  the  man  who 
killed  another  because  the  other  man  was  robbing  a 
girl  of  her  mine.  Oh,  I've  got  a  bully  scheme  for  a 
story." 

Ann  saw  nothing  more  of  her  fellow  -  passengers, 
and  not  much  of  Louis,  till  next  morning  at  breakfast. 
The  dining  service  was  surprisingly  good,  and  their 
dainty  meal  was  made  really  wonderful  by  contrast 
with  the  plains  country  through  which  they  were  rush 
ing.  Louis  had  been  up  an  hour,  and  fairly  boiled  and 
bubbled  with  talk  about  the  people  in  the  coaches 
ahead.  "Do  you  know,  sis,  they  slept  in  their  chairs 
all  night.  Think  o'  that !  I  didn't  know  they  did  that 

12 


The    Emigrants 

sort  of  thing,  did  you?  I  suppose  they  were  too  poor 
to  buy  berths.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"Perhaps  the  berths  were  all  full." 

"That's  so,"  he  replied,  a  little  disappointed.  "But 
we're  on  the  edge  of  the  cattle-country.  All  the  talk 
is  about  cattle,  and  I  struck  one  old  man  who  lives 
away  out  in  the  real  cattle-country.  He  wanted  me  to 
come  out  and  see  him." 

And  this  was  true.  Every  one  liked  him,  he  was  so 
genuine,  so  lyric  in  his  enthusiasms.  His  candid,  boy 
ish  eyes  glowed  as  he  listened  to  their  braggart  praise 
of  their  own  State  or  county ;  his  interest  had  no  un 
dercurrent  of  distrust  or  ridicule  in  it,  and  young  and 
old  opened  their  hearts  to  him.  He,  on  his  part,  went 
so  far  as  to  invite  the  man  with  the  Alkali  Ike  mus 
tache  back  to  see  his  sister.  "She'd  like  to  know  you, 
Mr.  Barse." 

The  rancher  shifted  uneasily  in  his  chair,  and  said, 
with  instinctive  delicacy:  "I'm  just  as  much  obliged, 
youngster,  but,  to  tell  the  truth,  I've  been  on  with 
some  cattle  and  knockin'  around  Chicago  for  several 
days,  and  I  ain't  in  no  fit  condition  to  meet  ladies. 
You  can't  do  such  work  as  mine  and  not  carry  off  some 
of  the  smell." 

Louis  insisted  that  his  sister  would  make  all  allow 
ances,  but  the  rancher  remained  firm  in  his  resolution, 
and  so  Ann  missed  seeing  those  wonderful  whiskers. 
However,  she  was  forced  to  look  at  prairie-dogs  and 
owls,  and  once  she  feared  Louis  was  going  out  of  the 
window  in  mad  pursuit  of  a  wolf.  His  interest  was 
deeply  pathetic,  and  confirmed  her  in  her  good  resolu 
tion  to  do  whatsoever  she  could  to  make  him  happy. 

As  the  day  wore  on  the  boy  began  to  burn  with  a 

13 


Hesper 

new  phase  of  his  fever.  He  commenced  to  count  the 
hours  till  he  might  be  able  to  discern  Mogalyon,  the 
great  peak  of  the  Rampart  Range,  whose  fame  is 
world-wide.  On  the  railway  map  was  a  point  mark 
ed  "First  view  of  the  peaks  here."  Thereafter  Louis 
no  longer  scanned  the  plains  for  coyotes.  He  rushed 
from  one  side  of  the  car  to  the  other,  resolute  to 
register  the  exact  moment  when  the  great  dome  could 
be  seen  mounting  above  the  sod,  and  Ann  once  again, 
for  the  thousandth  time,  wondered  at  the  difference 
which  lay  between  his  temperament  and  hers.  She 
was  nine  years  older  as  the  clock  ticks,  but  measured 
in  the  cooling -down  of  her  loves  and  hates  she  was 
more  than  twice  his  age.  That  she  was  her  moth 
er's  child  she  knew;  but  she  could  not  give  up  the 
hope  that  something  of  her  beautiful,  poetic  father  lay 
dormant  in  her  somewhere. 

A  shrill  whoop  from  Louis,  who  was  hanging  from 
the  window,  roused  her  from  her  deep  musing.  How 
like  his  father  he  was  at  that  moment!  His  eyes  were 
blazing,  and  his  long,  black  hair,  blown  back  by  the 
wind,  disclosed  his  high,  pale  forehead;  his  sweet  lips 
were  parted  in  an  ecstatic  smile. 

"There  she  is!  Just  as  father  saw  it!  And  there's 
snow  on  it!"  he  shouted,  as  he  turned  towards  her. 
"I'm  going  out  on  the  platform.  There's  a  curve 
ahead,  and  then  we  can  see  it  perfectly." 

Ann  experienced  her  first  decided  flush  of  interest 
as  the  swinging,  reeling  rush  of  the  train  brought  the 
great  peak  into  view,  a  dim,  blue  dome  against  the 
western  sky.  Above  the  strange,  desolate  sweep  of 
plain  he  rose  to  a  low,  slate-blue  cloud,  and  then,  soar 
ing  above  the  vapor,  appeared  far  in  the  clear,  upper  sky, 

14 


The    Emigrants 

triumphant  and  unassailable,  his  crest  glittering  with 
snow.  As  she  peered  through  her  field-glass  her  heart 
gave  a  sudden  leap.  "That  is  strange,"  she  thought. 
''Why  should  I  be  so  moved  ?  Mont  Blanc  did  not  give 
me  such  a  throb,"  and  she  turned  again  to  the  passion 
ate  praise  of  "the  portals"  in  her  father's  journal. 

There  was  no  rest  for  Louis  thereafter.  He  saw  and 
tried  to  estimate  every  herd  of  cattle,  he  waved  his  hat 
in  greeting  to  every  cow-boy.  He  called  to  Ann  to 
observe  how  much  those  herdsmen  resembled  the  illus 
trations  in  Welland's  books.  His  trips  to  the  common 
coaches  ahead  lengthened,  and  each  time  he  returned 
he  seemed  more  heavily  burdened  with  newly  acquired 
information.  Ann  now  began  to  long  for  the  journey's 
end  on  his  account,  rather  than  on  her  own.  "He 
is  wearing  himself  out  with  the  joy  of  it  all,  and  will 
collapse  if  he  does  not  rest  soon,"  she  thought,  anx 
iously. 

At  last,  just  as  the  red  was  paling  out  of  the  sky,  the 
train  swung  to  the  left  on  its  southerly  course,  and  the 
whole  Rampart  Range  began  to  stretch  and  wind  away 
to  northward  and  southward,  while  between  the  plain 
and  the  foot-hills  rolled  a  tawny  sea  of  sod,  deeply 
marked  with  ravines  and  dotted  with  pine-clad  buttes. 
The  whole  land,  magnificent  in  breadth  and  dignity, 
made  no  dramatic  appeal,  but  expressed  a  colossal 
reserve — even  the  mountains  seemed  remote.  So  qui 
etly  vast  was  this  wall  of  peaks  it  dwarfed  every 
thing  which  intervened,  reducing  towns  to  soundless 
flecks  of  color  and  streams  to  strips  of  brass.  Its 
mystery  and  its  essential  majesty  touched  the  poetic 
lad  to  tears,  and  Ann,  imperturbable  as  she  seemed, 
experienced  a  singular  swelling  of  the  throat.  For  the 


Hesper 


first  time  she  acknowledged  that  possibly  the  nature* 
side  of  the  West  might  interest  her,  after  all. 

The  range  grew  dimmer  as  they  gazed,  and  at  last 
even  Louis  was  content  to  sink  back  in  his  seat  and 
wait. 

"It  isn't  a  bit  as  I  expected  it  to  be,"  he  said;  "but 
it  is  glorious.  That  purple-green  was  wonderful.  I'm 
going  to  try  and  get  that  sometime.  It  isn't  as  pre 
cipitous  as  the  Alps,  but  it's  superb  just  the  same;  and 
just  think  how  much  wilder  it  was  when  father  came 
here!" 

"I'm  glad  you  were  not  disappointed,  boy,"  she  re 
plied,  laying  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  caressing 
his  cheek.  "But  you  need  rest.  You're  seeing  too 
much." 

The  train  was  now  winding  down  towards  Valley 
Springs,  and  only  the  splendid  sky-line  of  the  range 
could  be  distinguished  as  the  lights  of  the  town  began 
to  sparkle  out  of  the  obscure  murk. 

The  porter,  with  brush  in  hand,  came  down  the  aisle. 
"This  is  Valley  Springs,  miss." 

They  were  met  at  the  car  door  by  a  big,  smiling  man 
in  modish  summer  dress,  while  behind  him  stood  a  pale, 
sweet -faced  woman  in  blue. 

"Hello,  Don!"  shouted  Louis. 

"Hello,  laddie!  How  do  you  do,  Ann?"  replied 
Barnett;  and  as  Ann  and  her  cousin  embraced,  the  big 
man  caught  Louis  by  the  hand.  "  How's  your  muscle, 
my  boy?  Got  all  your  traps?  Here,  Tom!"  he  called 
to  a  colored  footman,  "look  out  for  these  things.  Now 
give  me  a  chance,  Jeannette,"  he  called,  jovially,  but 
Ann  put  up  her  hand  warningly. 

"Don,  you  forget.     Respect  my  age." 

16 


The    Emigrants 

^e  nothing — you're  tasty  as  a  peach,"  and  he 
gave  her  a  smack. 

*  Donnelly  is  the  same  old  irrepressible,"  said  Mrs. 
Baraett. 

"So  I  see/1  replied  Ann,  dryly. 

"  Welcome  to  the  West!"  called  Barnett,  as  he  opened 
the  carriage  door.  "The  land  of  gold-  "zone,  and — " 

"  Brag,"  interrupted  his  wife,  with  an  inflection  which 
made  them  all  laugh. 


II 

The     Health-seekers 

ANN'S  entrance  into  the  Barnett  home  cut  her  off 
/\from  all  contact  with  life  distinctly  Western.    She 
found  herself  still  amid  the  velvet  and  silver  of  the 
parlor-car,  and  saw  only  remotely  those  who  slept  all 
night  in  the  cramped  corners  of  the  ordinary  coaches. 
Her  cousins  were  not  native;  they  were,  indeed,  only 
translated  Philadelphians  who  had  gone  West  in  search 
of  health — at  least  Mrs.  Barnett  was  there  for  that  rea 
son;  her  husband  made  the  change  for  love  of  his  wife. 
A  certain  percentage  of  the  towns-people,  and  the 
members  of  the  special  circle  in  which  the  Barnetts 
moved,  were  health -seekers,  and  Ann  was  deeply  re 
lieved  to  find  that  all  the  comforts  of  an  Eastern  home 
were  to  be  enjoyed  in  the  big,  gray-stone  houses  on 
Rampart  Avenue.     Indeed,  the  Barnetts  lived  quite  as 
they  would  have  done  in  Seabright  or  Lenox, 
had  a  dozen  horses,  a  suitable  assortment  of  vehicles, 
saddles,  and  bridles,  and  were  enthusiasts  concerning 
polo  and  golf.     Their  neighbors  and  friends  were  un 
failingly  ecstatic  in  praise  of  the  climate  and  the  views, 
and  seemed  illogically  anxious  to  placate  the  prejudices 
of  this  haughty,  pale-faced,  scarlet-lipped  young  girl, 
who  looked  with  calm  eyes  upon  the  great  peak  gloom 
ing  to  the  westward.     They  formed,  in  fact,  a  colony 

18 


The   Health-seekers 

of  alien  health  -  seekers,  busied  with  pleasures,  set 
distinctly  apart  from  the  toilers  and  traders  of  the 
place. 

Ann  was  puzzled  and  a  bit  bored  by  their  insistence 
on  winning  her  admiration  of  the  mountains,  and,  being 
naturally  perverse,  withheld  the  expressions  of  pleas 
ure  she  might  otherwise  have  uttered,  for  she  was  pro 
foundly  moved  by  what  she  saw.  The  very  first  day 
of  her  stay  offered  a  titanic  combat  of  clouds  and  peaks, 
which  recalled  some  of  the  descriptions  in  her  father's 
journal.  The  morning  opened  dazzlingly  bright  and 
very  still,  and  the  pitiless  light  seemed  to  search  out 
every  prosaic  line  and  color-note  in  the  mountains  till 
they  shrank,  diminished  and  humbled,  as  if  ashamed 
of  their  disfigurements.  But  towards  mid-day  a  single 
shining,  white-edged  cloud  appeared  behind  Mogalyon, 
clear-cut,  radiant  as  a  moon,  and  swiftly  rose  and  si 
lently  shook  out  prodigious  wings  until  it  covered  the 
summit  with  a  most  portentous  shadow.  Out  of  its 
dark  folds  flashed  a  yellow  lance  of  lightning,  and  then 
the  cloud  called  to  its  fellows,  called  imperiously,  and 
they  came,  suddenly,  like  warriors  from  ambush,  and, 
massing  side  by  side,  charged  to  and  fro,  hurtling  over 
the  desolate  ridges  in  a  frenzy  of  warfare,  till  their  bat 
tle-vapor  hid  the  whole  majestic  wall.  The  noise  of 
their  onset  was  majestic.  At  two  o'clock  the  valley 
was  darkened  with  the  smoke  of  the  tumult,  and  tim 
orous  women  in  the  town  trembled  with  dread.  It 
seemed  that  all  who  dwelt  below  were  in  peril  of  their 
lives. 

They  were  needlessly  alarmed.  The  sturdy  peaks 
receiving  the  shock  remained  unmoved.  At  four 
o'clock  the  legions  of  the  air  suddenly  withdrew,  and 

19 


Hesper 

Mogalyon's  crown  soared  aloft  unchanged  save  by  the 
transcendently  beautiful  robe  of  new-fallen  snow  with 
which  the  storm  had  covered  him  as  if  in  acknowledg 
ment  of  his  kingship.  He  flamed  with  a  high  lustre 
that  humbled  the  proudest  heart,  and  swept  the  pass 
ing  plainsman  into  such  emotion  as  those  'of  old  felt 
when  the  heavens  opened  and  the  walls  of  the  celestial 
city  appeared. 

Louis'  poetic  soul  was  strung  to  most  intense  pitch 
by  this  first  day's  display.  He  scarcely  ate,  so  eager 
was  he  to  witness  every  stage  of  the  struggle.  The 
Barnett  dining-room  commanded  a  view  of  the  moun 
tains,  and  the  host,  observing  the  boy's  enthusiasm, 
said,  indulgently: 

"Don't  feel  that  you're  losing  anything,  Louis;  this 
comes  every  day  regularly  between  n  A.M.  and  4  P.M." 

"Oh,  don't  put  it  that  way,  Donnelly;  it  vulgarizes 
it!"  cried  Mrs.  Barnett. 

"Nothing  can  vulgarize  that  peak  —  not  even  the 
railway,"  remarked  a  guest. 

"I  never  did  understand  that  girl,"  said  Barnett  to 
his  wife  one  night  after  a  superb  drive  up  into  the  great 
Bear  Canon.  "  She  has  everything  to  make  her  happy, 
and  yet  she  goes  about  torpid  as  an  oyster.  What's 
the  matter  with  her?" 

Jeannette  sighed.  "  That's  her  mother's  blood.  She's 
like  her  mother  in  a  hundred  ways.  Louis  is  exactly 
like  his  father."  I  remember  when  he  came  back 
from  his  first  and  only  trip  to  the  West.  I  was  only 
a  child,  but  I  recall  his  enthusiasm." 

He  was  a  lovable  fellow,  but  I  never  could  stand 
Alicia.  She  was  positively  stony.  I  have  hopes  of 

20 


The    Health -seekers 

Ann.  Her  hand  is  strong  and  warm — human,  in  fact. 
Don't  you  think  her  indifference  a  pose? 

"I  wish  it  were.     No,  it's  genuine." 

"She  needs  to  be  shaken  up  by  a  good,  hot  love 
affair.  Some  man  will  come — " 

"That's  what  I've  been  saying,  but  the  man  don't 
come.  She's  twenty-six." 

"How  awful!" 

"That's  the  part  I  don't  understand  about  Ann. 
She  has  money,  is  handsome,  and  yet  here  she  is  quite 
disengaged  —  if  we  except  her  affair  with  Peabody, 
which  Adney  writes  is  quite  as  tepid  as  any  of  Ann's 
other  affairs." 

"Well,  now,  I'll  tell  you.  She's  come  to  the  right 
place  to  have  men  ride  up  and  demand  attention.  If 
she  don't  have  at  least  an  offer  a  week  it  will  not  be 
my  fault.  I'm  going  to  invite  all  the  young  fellows 
home  to  dinner  while  she's  here.  Now  watch  things 
'bile.'" 

"You  don't  suppose  she's  going  to  fall  in  love  with  a 
mining  engineer  or  the  clerk  in  a  bank,  do  you?" 

"Now,  that's  the  funny  thing  about  us.  I  am  all 
for  romance,  hot  blood,  love  at  first  sight,  and  the  like, 
while  you  are  calculating — coldly  calculating.  Madam, 
I  am  shocked  at  your  self-restraint!" 

There  was  a  certain  truth  in  his  jocular  accusation. 
For  with  all  her  delicacy  of  mind  and  body,  Jeannette 
Barnett  was  deliberate  and  judicial.  She  wanted  to 
marry  Ann  off,  but  she  did  not  hope  for,  and  did  not  de 
sire,  a  romantic  marriage.  However,  she  acquiesced  in 
Don's  hospitable  and  cousinly  plan,  and  their  table  was 
filled  each  night  with  young  people  deftly  paired  off 
so  that  Ann  was  always  seated  beside  some  promising 

21 


Hesper 

candidate  —  generally  a  tourist  like  herself,  eager  to 
discuss  the  differences  between  his  idea  of  the  West  and 
its  reality. 

Barnett,  nominally  a  mining  broker,  was,  in  fact, 
president  of  the  polo  club,  secretary  of  the  Sage  Grass 
Golf  Association — in  short,  financial  nurse  to  every  col 
lection  of  amiable  sports  in  the  town.  He  knew  all 
"the  best  fellows"  in  the  State  and  now  became  more 
popular  than  ever.  The  young  men  accepted  his  din 
ner  invitations  with  gratitude,  and  each'  and  all  paid 
prompt  and  undisguised  court  to  "the  proud  Eastern 
beauty,"  as  one  young  fellow  called  her.  But  they 
soon  acknowledged  failure.  Her  reserve  led  to  a  sense 
of  injury,  and  was  reported  to  be  arrogance.  They  were 
seldom  flattered  by  the  slightest  unbending  on  her 
part. 

However,  several  of  these  young  fellows  turned  out 
on  acquaintance  to  be  socially  related  to  some  of  her 
friends  in  Boston  and  New  York,  and  in  that  way  won 
a  certain  acceptance  which  no  mere  civil-engineer  from 
Omaha  or  professor  from  St.  Louis  could  hope  to  attain. 
They  were  met  on  the  conventional  plane,  and  they  got 
no  further  at  any  time. 

Ann  wrote  her  mother  a  coldlv  satirical  description 
of  the  Springs. 

"There  are  a  few  nice  people  here,  mostly  health-seek 
ers — 'one-lungers,'  Louis  calls  them — a  vulgar  phrase  he 
has  picked  up — but  for  the  most  part,  of  course,  the  towns 
people  are  impossible.  The  Barnetts  practically  control 
the  social  situation,  but  they  are  altogether  too  catholic 
to  please  you.  Don  Barnett  always  was  indiscriminate 
in  his  friends,  and  all  manner  of  queer  people  turn  up  at 
his  table.  Naturally,  Louis  is  ecstatic,  and  is  securing  a 

22 


The    Health-seekers 

vast  fund  of  useless  information  about  mining  and  cattle 
and  timber  culture.  I'm  bored  most  of  the  time,  but  the 
mountains  are  really  very  grand  and  solemn.  The  canons 
would  be  most  impressive,  only  they  swarm  with  tourists. 
The  town  is  absurd— and  pathetic.  So  many  are  trying,  as 
I  am,  to  interest  themselves  for  the  sake  of  the  climate. 
How  long  I  shall  stay  I  cannot  say — probably  till  Novem 
ber;  all  depends  on  Louis'  health,  of  course.  He  is,  at 
present,  unwholesomely  excited.  Every  long-haired, 
broad-hatted  man  he  sees  is  a  story  to  him,  poor  boy, 
and  he  is  on  the  trot  every  hour  of  the  day." 

To  Wayne  Peabody  she  wrote : 

"  It  is  a  strange  thing,  but  I  feel  as  if  I  were  on  an  island 
out  here — a  social  island — with  two  thousand  miles  of 
arid  nothingness  rolling  between  New  York  and  our  little 
group.  What  do  you  suppose  all  those  millions  on  the 
prairie  think  about?  What  are  their  ambitions?  I  never 
even  considered  them  before,  but  being  on  this  side  of 
them  has  brought  them  nearer  to  me.  What  is  the  good 
of  all  these  cheap  little  men  and  women?" 

Meanwhile  she  was  really  troubled  about  Louis.  He 
was  eating  less  and  less  each  day,  and  his  sleep  was 
broken,  and  at  the  end  of  the  first  week  fell  in  a  state 
of  collapse.  The  excitement,  the  late  hours,  the  con 
tact  with  new  types,  and,  above  all,  the  attempt  to  un 
derstand  the  country  and  his  relationship  with  it  had 
worn  him  out.  Then  Ann  said,  in  her  decisive  way :  "  I 
don't  believe  this  altitude  is  good  for  Louis.  I  think 
I  will  take  him  home  again." 

"Oh,  don't  do  that.  It  isn't  the  altitude;  it's  the 
social  whirl.  Send  him  down  to  my  ranch.  It's,  a 
hole  of  a  place,  but  it's  just  what  he  needs.  Nothing 

23 


Hesper 

to  see  but  coyotes  and  cow-boys.  We'll  put  him  under 
Rob  Raymond's  wing.  Rob's  my  foreman,  and  a  good 
chap;  he'll  take  to  the  boy  like  anything.  I'm  sure 
of  it." 

Louis  sat  up  with  a  jerk  when  told  of  this  plan  to  send 
him  among  real  cow-boys — he  had  only  seen  one  or 
two  thus  far,  and  they  were  galloping  out  of  town — 
and  was  all  for  starting  at  once,  but  Ann  was  firm. 
"You  stay  quietly  in  bed  for  a  few  days  and  get 
rested,  and  then  we  will  see." 

As  soon  as  he  was  able  to  ride  down-town  the  boy 
began  again  to  mix  with  the  ranchers  on  the  street,  and 
to  strike  hands  with  every  "character"  he  discovered. 
He  came  home  to  lunch  each  day  full  of  talk  of  some 
picturesque  miner  or  hairy  cattle-man  whom  he  had 
met  on  the  corner,  and  whose  heart  had  been  opened 
to  him.  His  room  began  to  fill  with  specimens  of  ore, 
and  his  keen  and  relentless  memory  acquired  a  still 
more  wonderful  collection  of  phrases  and  scraps  of 
what  seemed  to  him  useful  information.  He  began 
to  plead  for  his  visit  to  the  ranch. 

"Everybody  cottons  to  the  lad,"  said  Barnett  to 
his  wife.  "He  tackled  old  man  Sandefer  to-day  and 
had  him  telling  the  story  of  his  life  before  he  knew 
what  he  was  about.  He'd  make  a  wonderful  broker; 
he  could  sell  stock,  even  the  stock  of  the  Red  Star," 
which  was  his  own  mine. 

"He's  very  lovable,"  replied  she,  "but  he  is  terribly 
intense.  He  will  wear  himself  out,  just  like  his  father." 

"Oh  no;  he'll  begin  to  harden  up  pretty  soon. 
Besides,  he's  bound  to  lose  interest  finally." 

"That  would  be  a  pity.  His  enthusiasm's  are  beau 
tiful  to  me.  When  do  we  go  to  the  ranch?" 

24 


The    Health-seekers 

The  plan  as  worked  out  by  Barnett  involved  a  trip 
on  his  automobile  for  the  four  of  them ;  but  he  delayed 
too  long.  Mrs.  Barnett  entered  upon  one  of  her  "poor 
spells,"  and  Donnelly,  faithful  as  a  big  dog,  promptly 
told  Louis  to  go  ahead  and  not  wait  for  the  party.  "  I 
must  stay  and  nurse  Jeannette." 

Ann  was  afraid  to  let  Louis  go  alone,  but  Barnett 
pooh-poohed  her.  "  He'll  get  on  all  right;  in  fact,  he'll 
rejoice  to  be  free  of  us  for  a  day  or  two.  I'll  wire  the 
mail-carrier  to  meet  him  and  take  him  down,  and  I'll 
send  a  letter  to  Raymond  to  look  out  for  him.  He'll 
be  more  than  safe;  he'll  be  happy,  and  he  won't  miss  us 
in  the  least." 

Ann  insisted  on  going  down  herself.  "I  want  to 
see  him  properly  settled,"  she  said. 

"It's  a  dreary  ride,"  murmured  Mrs.  Barnett  from 
the  bed  where  she  lay,  weak  and  wan,  "but  you  are  so 
strong — you  can  do  anything;  perhaps  you'll  enjoy  it 
It  will  be  a  new  experience  for  you  as  well  as  for  Louis." 

Barnett  slyly  winked  at  his  wife.  He  really  wanted 
to  see  Ann  "jarred."  "It  '11  do  her  good  to  rough  it  a 
little,"  he  said,  privately.  Thereupon,  Louis,  trem 
bling  with  eagerness,  began  to  "rustle  his  outfit." 
He  bought  a  pistol,  a  rifle,  and  a  broad-rimmed  hat. 
He  rolled  some  blankets  and  tied  them,  under  the 
instruction  of  the  hostler,  who  was  experienced  in  such 
manner  of  life.  He  also  purchased  the  most  highly 
ornamental  cattle-man's  saddle  in  the  Springs,  and 
glowingly  explained  to  Ann  what  each  string  and 
strap  was  called  and  what  its  services  were. 

"  What  a  child  you  are!"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  watch 
ed  him,  her  eyes  warming  with  love  and  pride.  "  You're 
a  dear  boy!"  she  added,  as  he  came  to  her  side. 

25 


Hesper 

He  looked  up  at  her  tenderly.  "You're  good  to  me, 
Hesper,"  he  said,  fervently. 

"Sh!  don't  ever  call  me  by  that  absurd  name." 

"  It  isn't  absurd.     I  like  it,"  he  said. 

Barnett,  seated  at  his  telephone,  made  every  arrange 
ment  for  them.  "You'll  be  met  by  old  Jones,  and 
when  you  get  there  Mrs.  Jones  will  look  after  you. 
She's  a  very  good  cook,  so  don't  get  nervous  when 
you  see  her.  She's  not  pretty.  Raymond  will  do  his 
best  to  entertain  you,  and  when  you  come  back  you'd 
better  ask  Raymond  to  put  his  own  horses  in  the 
cart  and  drive  you  out — he'll  be  better  company  than 
Jones." 

As  the  train  drew  out  from  the  depot  and  began  to 
climb  the  hill,  Louis  stood  on  the  rear  platform  and 
swung  his  cap  at  Barnett  and  the  coachman;  and  both 
made  reply,  for  the  boy  was  on  good  terms  with  master 
and  man. 

Ann,  again  in  the  Pullman  coach,  looked  out  on  the 
tawny  landscape  and  said,  "I  wish  we  were  on  our 
way  home." 

Louis  looked  up  with  scared  eyes.  "You  don't  mean 
that,  sis.  Why,  I'm  just  beginning  to  see  things." 


Ill 

Raymond    of  the    Goldfish    Ranch 

BARNETT'S  ranch,  one  of  his  chief  amusements, 
lay  at  the  head  of  a  valley  surrounding  a  spring 
which  was  the  source  of  Wild  Cat  Creek.  The  build 
ings  stood  just  where  the  ravine  opened  out  upon  a 
grassy  meadow.  It  was  a  comfortable  place,  shielded 
from  the  desert  winds  by  the  low  hills  to  the  north,  while 
a  small,  artificial  pond,  gravelled  and  rimmed  with 
cottonwoods  and  willows,  gave  it  enviable  distinction 
among  the  bleak  and  barren  farmsteads.  It  seemed 
a  very  beautiful  spot  to  those  who  dwelt  on  the  unre 
lieved  plain,  for  the  pond  overflowing  upon  the  bog 
kept  it  green  perennially;  and  the  house,  though  built 
of  cottonwood  logs,  was  unusually  large  and  well-kept. 
In  brief,  it  was  a  show  place — a  shady  spot  to  which 
lovers  drove  on  a  Sunday  as  to  a  bower.  It  was  known 
as  the  "Goldfish  Ranch,"  for  the  reason  that  at  one 
time  Barnett  had  filled  the  pond  with  ornamental  fish. 

At  about  five  o'clock  of  a  hot  and  windless  July  day, 
a  horseman  galloped  swiftly  up  the  valley  into  the 
yard,  and  was  met  at  the  door  of  the  house  by  a  tall, 
composed  young  fellow  in  broad  hat  and  spurs. 

"Hello,  Perry!"  he  said,  quietly.  "You  made  good 
time." 

Perry,  a  young  Mexican,  showed  a  score  of  his  white 

27 


Hesper 

teeth  in  a  grin.  "  Here  is  letter.  Some  people  com- 
ing  to  rancho  to-night." 

The  young  man  tore  the  end  from  the  long  envelope, 
and  read  the  letter  in  silence.  His  face  darkened. 
"Well,  that's  a  nice  case  o'  beans.  So  they're  on  the 
road,  are  they?" 

"Yes;  'bout  fo'  miles  back." 

The  young  foreman  turned  towards  the  house,  from 
which  the  faint  strains  of  "Annie  Laurie"  came.  A 
plump,  light -haired  young  fellow  of  about  thirty  sat 
tilted  back  in  his  chair,  with  one  leg  thrown  across 
the  corner  of  the  table,  playing  a  mouth-organ.  His 
eyes  were  closed  in  a  musical  ecstasy,  and  his  hands, 
modulating  the  tone  of  the  instrument,  were  just  open 
ing  into  a  quavering  crescendo  when  the  man  with  the 
letter  slammed  it  on  the  table  with  such  force  that  the 
player  started  to  his  feet. 

"Hello,  Rob!     I  didn't  hear  you  come  in." 

Raymond  was  in  bad  humor.  "Put  up  your  play 
thing,  you  monkey,  and  listen  to  me  a  moment." 

The  musician  wiped  his  instrument  with  his  neck 
erchief  while  studying  his  foreman's  face. 

"What's  up?" 

Raymond  pointed  at  the  letter.  "  Read  that.  Nice 
thing  the  old  man  works  on  us."  His  indignation  and 
disgust  deepened  into  a  growl.  "This  settles  it.  I'm 
going  to  pull  out." 

The  other  man  composedly  took  up  the  letter. 
"What's  he  done  now?" 

"Going  to  quarter  a  crazy  kid  on  us,  a  New  York 
degenerate,  who'll  be  a  confounded  nuisance  every 
hour  of  the  day;  and  that  isn't  all  —  the  kid's  sis 
ter  is  coming  down  to  stay  a  few  days."  Here  his 

28 


Raymond    of  the    Goldfish    Ranch 

dismay  was   fairly  comical.     "'To   get  the  lad  set 
tled.'" 

Baker's  eyes  widened  and  his  fat  face  lengthened. 
"Not  comin'  to-day?" 

"That's  what!" 

"And  us  without  no  woman  'round." 

Raymond  broke  forth  again :  "  That's  it,  now.  You'd 
suppose  Barnett  would  at  least  read  my  letters.  I  told 
him  last  week  that  old  Jonesy  and  his  wife  were  going 
up  to  Sky-Town,"  He  turned  to  the  Mexican,  who 
stiH  stood  in  the  door,  broadly  grinning:  "How  far 
behind  did  you  say  they  were?" 

'  'Bout  fo'  miles." 

"Well,  we're  in  for  it.  We  can't  turn  a  woman  out 
on  the  plain.  Jack,  you  slovenly  whelp,  set  to  work 
and  clean  up  the  mess  you've  made.  Perry,  go  rope 
some  snags  for  a  fire.  Hustle  now!" 

Baker  opened  the  letter.  "What  kind  of  a  girl  do 
you  reckon — " 

"  It  don't  matter.  Any  kind  is  a  nuisance  just  now. 
She's  more  than  likely  to  be  one  of  Barnett's  Eastern 
relatives  who  think  we're  all  half-brothers  to  red  Injuns 
out  here." 

Baker  began  to  read  the  letter  aloud  in  a  monoto 
nous,  painful  way,  while  Raymond  moved  about  the 
room  picking  up  the  litter. 

'My  dear  Rob, — I'm  sending  you  a  new  hand  and 
a  visitor — '" 

"Thinks  I'm  running  a  summer  resort,"  Raymond 
interrupted,  bitterly. 

: '  They  are  cousins,  and  nice  people.  The  lad  is  not 
very  strong,  and  I'm  sending  him  down  to  you  to  get 
an  upward  turn.' " 

29 


Hesper 

Raymond  turned.  "  See !  You  thought  we  were  run 
ning  a  cattle-ranch;  but  we're  not — it's  a  sanitarium." 

Baker  went  on,  calmly,  "'He's  crazy  on  the  subject 
of  wild  animals  and  cow-boys — '" 

"Don't  you  see  the  meaning  of  that?"  sneered  Ray 
mond.  "We're  a  holy  show — a  '  Wild  West '  to  these 
people." 

"And  is  a  very  clever  artist.  He'll  want  to  have 
you  pose  for  him."1 

Raymond  came  over  and  seized  the  stove-lid  lifter 
as  if  to  break  Baker's  head.  "We're  to  cook  and  pur 
vey  like  boarding-house  keepers,  and  doctor  like  a 
nurse  at  a  health  resort,  and  in  addition  we're  to  pose 
for  a  delicate  youth  who  thinks  we're  'material.'  That 
settles  me.  I'm  going  up  to  Sky  and  take  a  shy  at 
mining."  Baker  listened  with  a  fat  smile,  which  ex 
asperated  his  boss  to  danger-point.  "Grin,  you  jack- 
rabbit.  If  your  chin  made  a  little  more  noise,  you'd 
keep  yourself  company." 

Baker  broke  forth  into  a  slow  drawl:  "Hadn't  you 
better  strike  a  few  attitudes  so's  to  be  in  practice  when 
the  boy  comes?" 

Raymond  throttled  him  half  in  earnest.  "I've  a 
mind  to  wring  your  neck,"  he  said,  through  his  teeth. 
Then,  suddenly  releasing  him,  he  again  commanded 
him  to  clear  away  his  dishes. 

Baker  was  not  yet  finished  with  the  letter.  "Hold 
on.  Don't  be  in  a  rush.  I  hain't  got  to  the  girl  yet — 
that's  what  interests  me.  'Miss  Rupert  will  only  stay 
a  few  days  to  get  the  lad  settled.'" 

"She  can't  stay  too  quick  to  suit  me." 

Baker's  voice  took  on  a  little  more  expression  as  he 
read  Barnett's  appeal.  "'Now,  don't  be  cranky,  old 

30 


Raymond    of  the    Goldfish    Ranch 

man;  the  Ruperts  are  good  stuff, and  on  Mrs.Barnett's 
account — ' " 

"Ends  up  by  laying  me  under  obligation  to  his  wife, 
knowing  mighty  well  I'd  do  anything  for  her.  Well, 
I'll  do  it,  but  I  reckon  the  atmosphere  won't  bake  a 
cake  while  she's  here.  I'll  leave  you  and  Dutch  to 
do  the  talking;  that  '11  chill  her  cold." 

Baker  began  to  show  alarm.  "Not  by  a  hatful. 
Right  here  is  where  I  take  a  sneak." 

Raymond's  brow  darkened  and  his  eyes  threatened. 
"No  you  don't,  my  Christian  friend  and  neighbor;  you 
remain  right  here  and  do  the  honors.  You  will  pass 
for  the  boss.  I've  got  to  cook." 

"  Great  Peter!  you  mustn't  do  that!  I  can't  carry  it 
through.  I'm  no  spieler." 

"Play  the  mouth-organ  for  her." 

"Oh,  see  here,  you're  joshin'." 

"You  won't  find  it  any  'josh.'  You've  been  getting 
gay  with  me  lately  and  need  discipline.  You  pass  for 
the  foreman — understand?  You  amuse  the  girl  and 
pose  for  the  boy,  while  I  knock  pots;  that  is  settled. 
Now  take  the  pail  and  rustle  some  water,  and  don't  you 
peep." 

Perry,  entering  at  the  door  with  an  armful  of  brush, 
called  out,  with  quiet  joy,  "The  sefiora  has  come." 

Raymond  seized  him  by  the  arm.  "Listen  here, 
Perry.  The  old  man  has  written  down  to  say  that 
he  has  made  Jack  the  boss.  I'm  going  to  cook  a  few 
days,  and  then  I  leave.  You  tell  the  other  boys  that 
Jack  Baker  is  made  foreman,  and  they've  got  to  obey 
him — you  sabbe?" 

Perry  grew  solemn  of  face.  "I  sabbe.  If  you  go, 
I  go." 


Hesper 

"Never  mind  that.  Get  out  there  and  help  take 
care  of  the  team;  and,  Jack,  you  go  too — "  He  laid  a 
hand  on  his  back  and  pushed  him  through  the  door 
way,  just  as  the  two-seated  hack  rounded  the  corral 
and  drew  up  to  the  door. 

"  Oh,  isn't  this  fine!"  called  a  clear,  boyish  voice,  and 
a  moment  later  the  cool,  deliberate  voice  of  a  girl  re 
plied: 

"Oh,  what  a  blessed  relief,  after  the  hot  sun  of  the 
plain!" 

Then  Baker  was  heard  to  say,  with  elaborate  cour 
tesy:  " Shall  I  help  you  out,  miss?  I  reckon  you  are 
the  friends  of  the  old  man — I  mean  Barnett?"  And 
a  moment  later  the  young  girl  stood  in  the  doorway 
looking  out  at  the  plain.  Raymond  gave  her  but  one 
glance  from  the  corner  of  his  eyes,  but  her  firm,  well- 
balanced  body  and  calm,  high-bred  face  touched  him 
with  admiration.  His  resolution  to  be  disagreeable 
weakened,  though  he  kept  about  his  work.  There 
was  no  mistaking  the  modishness  of  her  skirt  and 
hat.  She  was  Parisian  from  crown  to  toe,  and  per 
fectly  cool  and  sweet,  in  spite  of  her  long  and  dusty 
ride. 

"  I  never  knew  how  grateful  the  shade  of  a  tree  could 
be,"  Ann  said,  partly  to  Louis  and  partly  to  Baker. 
"The  prophet  must  have  had  such  a  country  in  mind 
when  he  spoke  of  '  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary 
land.' " 

"  I'm  a  little  weak  on  poetry,  miss,"  remarked  Baker, 
hesitatingly,  "but  I  know  something  about  the  way 
the  sun  wallops  a  man  between  here  and  Wallace.  But 
lay  off  your  things — ma-make  yourself  to  home."  He 
was  twisting  his  hat  into  ruin  in  his  agitation. 

32 


Raymond    of  the    Goldfish    Ranch 

Ann  began  to  draw  off  her  gloves.  "  Is  it  always  so 
fiercely  bright  here?" 

"Oh  no,  this  is  an  unusual  spell.  I  mean  it  is 
rather—" 

She  was  now  aware  of  Raymond  moving  sullenly 
about  in  the  gloom  wherein  the  stove  sat.  He  was 
dressed  in  a  light -tan,  loosely  fitting  shirt,  and  brown 
trousers  without  braces.  His  spurs  rattled  at  his  heels 
as  he  walked  to  and  fro,  lithe  and  powerful.  He  did 
not  look  up  —  did  not  appear  to  notice  what  was 
going  on,  but  came  and  went  at  his  work,  deft  and  ab 
sorbed. 

Louis  was  instantly  delighted  with  the  room.  "Isn't 
this  ripping!"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  studied  its  furnish 
ings.  "Won't  this  make  a  strong  background  for  an 
illustration  ?  Only  that  stove — isn't  it  too  bad ? — that's 
all  out  of  key.  Why  don't  you  have  a  fireplace,  Mr. 
Raymond?"  he  asked,  turning  to  Baker. 

Raymond  gave  Baker  a  glance,  and  the  plump  one 
waded  in:  "Too  little  wood  in  this  country.  Cook, 
draw  up  a  chair  for  the  lady." 

Raymond's  eyes  flashed  with  a  silent  menace,  but  he 
did  as  he  was  told,  and,  as  he  put  the  chair  down  for 
Ann,  he  dusted  it  with  his  hat. 

Louis  was  husky-voiced  with  joy.  "Did  you  see 
that,  Ann?  I'll  have  to  work  that  in  somewhere." 

Baker  continued,  in  the  same  tone,  "Can't  you 
rustle  a  little  grub  for  the  company,  Jack?" 

Raymond  curtly  replied,  "I'll  try  hard." 

Baker,  who  was  gaining  self-control,  turned  to  Ann. 
"We  have  to   humor  our  cooks   out   here.     They're 
scarce  and  mighty  uncertain  in  their  minds — stop  and 
shy  at  nothin',  like  a  locoed  steer." 
3  33 


Hesper 

Louis  clapped  his  hands.  "Oh,  isn't  the  talk  good, 
Ann?  And  these  chairs — aren't  they  fine?" 

"Cook  made  'em,"  said  Baker.  "He's  handy  as  a 
bootjack  with  tools." 

Ann  ignored  the  chairs,  but  studied  the  cook,  whose 
curiously  absorbed,  sullen,  yet  deft  movements  inter 
ested  her.  He  appeared  to  be  about  thirty  years  of 
age,  and  his  lean,  powerful  figure  dignified  the  rough 
and  dust-stained  clothes  he  wore.  His  profile  was 
stern  and  manly,  but  his  chin  was  youthful.  His  eyes 
she  had  not  yet  seen. 

Raymond,  on  his  part,  was  fairly  abashed  by  the 
grace  and  youthful  charm  of  his  visitor.  She  reminded 
him,  as  she  stood  there  calmly  looking  about  the  grimy 
walls,  of  the  stories  he  had  read  of  princesses  visiting 
the  huts  of  their  peasantry.  She  was  of  good  height, 
but  the  proud  lift  of  her  head  made  her  seem  taller 
than  she  was,  and  the  cut  of  her  gown,  the  color  of  her 
gloves  and  hat,  told  of  good  taste  and  the  service  of  the 
best  tailors  and  milliners.  "Great  Scot!"  he  said  to 
himself,  "she's  an  up-to-date  beauty.  What  will  I  do 
to  feed  her?"  And,  imperturbable  as  he  looked,  his 
heart  sank  within  him,  and  if  he  could  have  fled  honor 
ably  he  would  have  done  so  instantly ;  but  as  this  was 
out  of  the  question,  he  screwed  his  brows  into  a  still 
more  savage  frown  and  bent  to  his  task. 

Ann  was  not  at  her  ease  for  other  reasons.  Ordina 
rily  the  only  color  in  her  rather  impassive  face  lay  in 
the  vivid  scarlet  of  her  lips  and  the  deep  gray  of  her 
eyes,  but  the  dry  wind,  playing  upon  her  delicate  skin, 
had  filled  it  with  a  sense  of  heat.  She  believed  herself 
to  be  scorched  to  the  color  of  a  brick,  when,  in  fact, 
she  was  radiant  with  the  most  delicate  pink.  With  a 

34 


Raymond    of  the    Goldfish    Ranch 

sense  of  appearing  ill  she  was  as  dazzling  as  the  bride 
in  the  songs  of  Solomon,  and  the  young  ranchers  were 
awed  and  humbled.  They  wanted  to  go  away  and 
exclaim  over  their  wonderful  good  -  fortune.  Baker 
feared  to  look  at  her — could  not  think  of  anything  to 
say.  For  a  time  Louis  alone  broke  the  silence.  At 
length  Ann  turned.  "I  never  was  so  tired  in  my  life, 
and  my  face  is  burned  to  a  crisp.  That  wind  has  fairly 
stiffened  my  lips." 

Louis  looked  at  the  backs  of  his  hands.  "I  like  it. 
A  few  days  here  will  give  me  a  dandy  burn.  It's  just 
the  thing  I  need.  I  want  to  be  brown  like  these  men." 

Raymond  took  no  pains  to  be  noiseless  or  dainty  in 
his  work ;  but  every  movement  told.  He  sloshed  out  the 
coffee-pot  and  sliced  the  bacon  and  stirred  up  the  fire, 
all  with  a  grace  and  quiet  dignity  which  opened  Ann's 
eyes  in  an  effort  to  understand  him.  His  hands  were 
noticeably  fine,  and  the  poise  of  his  head  expressed 
strength  and  pride.  He  was  very  brown,  almost  as 
brown  as  the  leather  cuffs  he  wore  on  his  arms. 

Once,  when  he  passed  out  of  hearing,  she  turned  to 
Baker  suddenly  and  asked:  "Why  does  your  cook  wear 
spurs?  An  affectation,  I  suppose." 

Baker  flushed  and  stammered.  "Well,  no;  he  has 
to  help  with  the  cattle  once  in  a  while." 

Raymond  called  to  Perry,  who  was  seated  on  the 
doorstep.  "Perry,  jump  your  horse  and  round  up  a 
dry  cottonwood  snag;  this  brush  is  of  no  sort  of  use. 
I  want  a  hot  fire." 

Louis  beamed  at  Ann.  "He's  talking  just  like  Wal 
ter  Owen's  heroes." 

Ann  silenced  him.     "Hush!     He'll  hear  you." 

Baker,  quite  ready  to  take  a  fall  out  of  Raymond, 

35 


Hesper 


interposed:  "  He's  a  little  hard  at  first,  but  reel  sociable 
when  you  git  him  started.  But  he's  shy  as  a  rabbit 
when  they's  any  company  round." 

Raymond  uttered  a  cough  which  made  Baker  start. 
"I  guess  I'll  go  out  and  see  what  that  driver  has  done 
with  his  horses." 

Louis  sprang  up.  "I'll  go,  too,  if  you  don't  mind, 
sis." 

Ann  sat  with  closed  lids,  resting  her  aching  senses. 
The  ride,  after  the  first  moment  of  exultant  joy  of  the 
immeasurable  tawny  plain  and  the  far,  translucent- 
blue  mountains,  had  been  an  utter  weariness.  She 
had  stepped  from  the  parlor-car  into  a  rusty,  little,  two- 
seated  wagon,  and  almost  before  she  could  realize  it 
had  been  ihot  into  the  midst  of  a  wide,  empty,  ex 
pressionless  land — a  land  of  jack-rabbits  and  rattle 
snakes,  of  barbed  and  bitter  weeds,  miserable  cabins, 
and  wire  fences — a  land  whose  grass  was  scant,  hot, 
and  brittle  as  hair,  whose  springs  were  few — a  land 
without  a  tree  or  a  stream,  a  desert  on  which  the  horned 
toad  and  the  prairie-dog  alone  seemed  cheerful  and  at 
peace. 

Her  first  fleeting  interest  in  the  strange  blooms  and 
plants,  in  the  delicate  color  and  wonderful  lines  of  the 
hills,  gave  way  to  a  sinking  of  the  heart,  a  deep  dismay, 
as  she  penetrated  farther  and  farther  into  this  flaming 
desert.  The  unkempt  men,  the  slattern  women,  the 
desolate  huts,  the  bones  of  cattle — these  had  at  last 
filled  her  thought  to  the  exclusion  of  the  glories  which 
Louis  was  continually  discovering.  Only  when  she 
looked  away  to  the  pink-gray  and  purple  domes  of  the 
Rampart  Range  had  she  been  able  to  find  relief  from 
the  endless,  gray  monotony. 

36 


Raymond    of   the    Goldfish    Ranch 

The  lad,  however,  had  taken  note  of  everything.  He 
saw  every  jack-rabbit,  every  bird.  He  discovered  in 
numerable  little  lizards  fleeing  before  the  horses'  hoofs 
in  the  dust.  He  made  the  driver  wait  while  he  caught 
a  horned  toad,  and  once  he  killed  a  rattlesnake.  He 
was  wild  with  delight  at  the  intelligence  of  a  jack- 
rabbit,  which  kept  under  the  wire  fence  in  order  to 
escape  the  swoop  of  a  hawk. 

It  had  been  to  Ann  not  merely  an  entrance  into  the 
life  of  the  common  coach;  it  had  been  a  sudden  plunge 
into  the  smoking-car,  where  ranchers,  negroes,  China 
men,  Mexicans,  and  dowdy  and  unlovely  women  sat 
discussing  the  price  of  cattle  and  the  hay-crop. 

As  she  looked  round  the  low-ceiled  room,  in  which 
the  flies  buzzed,  her  eyes  fell  upon  a  little  case  of  books 
in  the  corner.  For  lack  of  something  better  to  do,  she 
rose  to  inspect  them.  She  was  surprised  to  find  them 
mainly  essays,  and  wondered  who  of  these  men  read 
Emerson  and  Burroughs.  One  of  them  was  a  book  of 
verse.  Raymond's  name  was  on  the  fly-leaf. 

"How  handsome  the  cook  is!"  was  her  inward  ex 
clamation  as  she  returned  to  her  seat.  She  was  not  one 
of  those  who  sit  in  silence  when  they  wish  information, 
and,  lifting  her  voice  a  little,  she  said: 

"I  understood  Mr.  Barnett  to  say  that  you  had  a 
woman  to  cook  for  you?" 

Raymond  shifted  a  stove-lid.     "We  did." 

"Where  is  she?" 

"Gone — a  week  ago." 

"Isn't  there  any  woman  about  the  place?" 

He  peered  into  the  coffee-pot.     "No  one  but  you.' 

Ann  sat  in  silence  for  a  moment.  "I  don't  under 
stand.  Mr.  Barnett  said — 

37 


Hesper 

Raymond  straightened  and  looked  at  her  sombrely. 
"If  Barnett  paid  a  little  more  attention  to  his  ranch 
and  less  to  polo —  I  wrote  him,  more  than  a  week 
ago,  that  Jonesy  was  pullin'  his  freight."  He  returned 
to  his  cooking. 

Ann  composedly  went  on,  "Was  Jones  the  name  of 
the  foreman?" 

"No,  he  was  assistant;  but  he  was  married,  and  his 
wife  was  our  dough -twister.  He's  gone  to  Sky-Town 
gold  camp.  The  whole  country  is  full  o'  the  fever." 

Ann  began  to  feel  that  she  was  a  little  in  the  way. 
"I'm  sorry  to  trouble  you.  If  I  had  known,  of  course, 
I  shouldn't  have  come  down.  In  fact,  if  I  had  realized 
how  desolate  it  is,  I  would  not  have  permitted  Louis  to 
come.  May  I  take  off  my  hat?" 

Raymond  turned  quickly.  "I  beg  your  pardon — I 
didn't  observe — why,  sure  thing!"  He  wiped  his  hands 
on  a  rod-towel  and  came  forward.  "Let  me  hang  it 
up  for  you.  Mebbe  you'd  like  to  go  in  the  other  room 
and  lie  down.  I'm  hustling  some  grub  as  fast  as  I  can, 
and  afterwards" — he  looked  about  at  the  bunks — 
"we'll  fix  a  place  for  you." 

Ann  smiled  sweetly.  "  Oh,  don't  trouble ;  I'll  be  glad 
to  sit  here.  I  am  feeling  better  already."  To  herself 
she  said,  "He  has  nice  eyes."  Turning  towards  him, 
she  quietly  said:  "You  must  not  bother  about  me. 
Can't  I  help  you?  I  can  cook  a  little.  I  once  went 
to  cooking-school.  Won't  you  let  me  try?" 

Raymond  looked  at  her  delicately  colored,  hands  and 
fleckless  linen.  "  No,  thank  you;  you'd  get  yourself  all 
tangled  up  with  soot  and  bacon  grease.  Besides,  it's 
about  ready — what  there  is  of  it — and  'nough  of  it, 
such  as  'tis,  as  the  fello'  says." 

38 


Raymond    of  the    Goldfish    Ranch 

Ann,  with  a  note  of  sympathy  in  her  voice,  said:  "I 
don't  like  to  see  a  big,  strong  man  cook.  Do  you  get 
extra  pay  for  it?" 

"Not  a  cent.  We  all  take  turns  at  it,  to  tell  the 
honest  truth." 

"I  hope  you're  the  best  cook?" 

"That  wouldn't  be  saying  much,  lady.  I  cook  in 
self-defence." 

Ann  opened  her  eyes  at  the  significance  of  this 
phrase.  "Then  you  don't  do  it  as  a — a  business." 

"Not  by  a  whole  row  o'  steers.  Do  you  like  prunes 
and  rice?"  he  asked,  hastily. 

Ann  looked  into  the  dish  which  he  held  out  towards 
her  and  gravely  replied:  "I  don't  think  I  ever  ate  any. 
You  don't  mean  they're  cooked  together?" 

"  That's  what.  It  sure  makes  a  filling  combination," 
said  he,  dishing  some  out  before  her. 

"I  can  well  believe  it,"  she  replied,  with  a  humorous 
intonation.  "Let  me  taste  it;  perhaps  I'll  like  it." 
As  she  nibbled  a  little  of  the  mess  from  the  spoon,  she 
glanced  up  at  him  with  a  queer  little  smile  that  made 
the  room  whirl  before  his  eyes.  "  It  seems  a  nutritious 
mixture." 

He  recovered  himself.  "Oh,  it's  a  hearty  mess, 
all  right.  If  you're  on  the  lookout  for  experiences, 
you'll  get  'em  this  trip.  We're  more  than  half-Injun 
here,  especially  since  Mrs.  Jones  pulled  out.  Any 
thing  that  will  sustain  life  goes.  My  cooking  isn't 
fancy — " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  Ann  hastened  to  explain,  "I 
didn't  mean  to  criticise.  I  didn't  intend  to  hurt  your 
feelings.  I'm  sure  it's  a  very  tasty  dish." 

"Oh,  I  don't  blame  you;  but,  you  see,  we're  not 
39 


Hesper 

running  a  summer  hotel  exactly;  still,  we'll  make  you 
as  comfortable  as  we  can  while  you  stay — " 

"  By  which  you  mean  to  hint  you  hope  I  won't  stay 
long."  She  was  frankly  amused. 

He  became  very  sincerely  grave.  "  I  didn't  say  that, 
lady." 

"But  you  meant  it." 

Raymond  scorned  to  lie.  "Well,  sit  up  and  do  the 
best  you  can.  The  grub  isn't  as  tough  as  it  looks. 
This  coffee  I  buy  myself.  We  aren't  in  anywise  fitted 
to  cater  to  delicate  appetites,  but,  as  I  say,  our  inten 
tions  are  of  the  best." 

Ann  took  her  seat,  filled  with  singular  enjoyment  of 
the  cook's  embarrassment.  "No  one  ever  accused  me 
of  having  a  delicate  appetite.  It  isn't  fashionable 
in  these  days  of  golf  and  tennis." 

Raymond  shifted  a  bowl  of  sugar  her  way.  "Sony 
we  have  no  cut-loaf.  Where's  the  invalid?" 

"Do  you  mean  my  brother?" 

"Yes." 

"  He's  not  an  invalid.  He's  only  a  strenuous  young 
ster  who  needs  a  change  of  air." 

"He'll  get  it."  Going  to  the  door,  Raymond  raised 
a  loud,  shrill,  quavering  call.  As  he  stood  on  the 
threshold  waiting  an  answer,  his  eyes  again  sought  the 
charming  figure  at  the  table,  and  his  blood  awoke.  He 
became  aware,  even  through  the  mist  of  his  resentment 
and  embarrassment,  of  his  amazing  good-luck.  Ann's 
eyes  being  demurely  fixed  upon  her  plate,  he  had  op 
portunity  to  absorb  every  detail  of  her  vigorous,  well- 
rounded  figure,  her  dainty  yet  serviceable  clothing,  and 
the  graceful  and  womanly  poise  of  her  head.  When  he 
spoke  again  his  voice  had  softened,  and  Ann — experi- 

40 


Raymond    of  the    Goldfish    Ranch 

enced  in  the  ways  of  men — well  understood  his  change 
of  heart. 

He  coughed  a  little  as  he  weakly  began  his  apology: 
"As  I  say,  we're  not  keeping  summer  boarders,  but 
I'll  make  you  as  comfortable  as  possible,  and  I  hope 
you'll  stay  as  long  as  you  feel  like — I  mean  as  long  as 
you  think  necessary." 

Ann  turned  a  dangerously  sweet  and  winning  look 
upon  him.  "Thank  you.  I'm  not  obtuse.  I  know 
when  I  am  out  of  place.  I  shall  flee  to-morrow." 

She  was  forcing  his  hand,  as  he  well  knew,  but  he  re 
mained  gravely  simple.  "I'll  be  sorry  if  our  grub,  or 
anything  else,  should  scare  you  out." 

"Oh,  it  isn't  that.  But  I  don't  like  to  be  a  burden 
to  any  one." 

"Did  any  one  say  you  were  a  burden?" 

"No,  but  you  looked  it." 

Raymond  set  his  back  against  the  wall  and,  with  a 
quizzical  light  in  his  eyes,  replied,  "I  didn't  know  you 
so  well  when  I  took  that  attitude." 

"You  mean  you  didn't  know  how  vigorous  my  appe 
tite  was?"  She  changed  the  subject  quickly.  "lean 
see  that  Louis  is  to  be  perfectly  happy  down  here.  I 
am  glad  I  came.  I  shall  feel  much  more  resigned  to 
his  being  here,  now  that  I  have  met  Mr.  Raymond  and 
you." 

Raymond  remained  inexpressive.  "Your  brother  is 
an  enthusiast,  I  believe  you  said.  He'll  be  more  char 
itable  than — than  you,  for  instance." 

Ann  didn't  like  his  emphasis.  "I  don't  wonder  at 
your  resentment.  Our  coming  is  an  imposition,  but  if 
I  had  known —  Please  be  kind  enough  to  admit  that 
I  didn't  know  how  you  were  situated." 

41 


Hesper 

Raymond  resumed  his  cow-boy  manner.  "Now, 
lady,  you  let  that  go.  I  don't  blame  you  a  hair. 
You're  here,  and  I'll  see — I  mean,  the  boss  will  see — 
we'll  all  see — that  the  boy  is  treated  right,  and  I'll  guar 
antee  that  he  gets  a  fair  share  of  what's  going.  I'm 
not  apologizing,  but  I  hope  you  won't  take  us  on  the 
wrong  slant.  I  hope  you'll  come  often — you  brighten 
up  the  place  wonderfully." 

Ann  drew  herself  up.  "I  don't  understand  you, 
Mr.—" 

"Call  me  cook  —  Mr.  Cook;  anything  goes  out 
here." 

They  were  now  squared  before  each  other,  he  with  a 
malicious  smile  lurking  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  she 
with  dark  and  puzzled  brow. 

"Of  course,  you  cow-boys  are  all  strange  to  me — I 
mean  your  manners  and  customs — but  my  room-mate 
at  college  told  me  a  good  deal  about  this  life.  She  was 
from  Colorado." 

He  betrayed  new  interest.  "What  was  your  college 
—Smith?" 

Ann  lifted  her  eyebrows  in  surprise.  "No.  What 
made  you  think  it  was?" 

Raymond  began  to  retreat.  "Oh,  I  don't  know; 
you  seemed  about  that  style.  I  mean  to  say,  you  carry 
yourself  like  a  Smith  College  girl  that  came  down  here 
once  with  Mrs.  Barnett."  He  caught  up  the  water- 
bucket.  "Excuse  me  a  minute;  I'll  run  down  to  the 
spring  and  get  some  water. ' '  His  going  was  equivalent 
to  flight. 

Ann  smiled  composedly  as  she  sipped  her  coffee, 
which  was  very  good  indeed. 

Louis  burst  in  at  the  door.     "Sis,  you  ought  to  see 

42 


Raymond    of   the    Goldfish    Ranch 

the  corrals  out  here.     They  have  ninety  head  of  horses 
— think  of  that!     And  I'm  to  ride  all  I  want  to." 

Baker,  who  appeared  just  behind  him,  put  in  a  drawl 
ing  word:  "  'Feared  like  he  wanted  to  ride  four  to 
once,  like  a  circus-man.  Are  you  get  tin'  somethin'  to 
eat,  miss?" 

"Oh  yes,  indeed." 

Louis,  throwing  down  his  cap  in  imitation  of  Ray 
mond,  cried  out,  "I'm  hungry." 

Ann  turned  to  Baker.  "Mr.  Foreman,  isn't  there 
something  mysterious  about  your  cook?  Part  of  the 
time  he  speaks  like  a  man  of  the  world  and  part  of 
the  time  like  a  rancher.  I  think  he's  playing  a  part, 
and  playing  it  badly." 

"What  makes  you  think  so?"  asked  Louis.  "They 
say  he's  a  bully  rider." 

"They  ain't  none  better,  miss,"  replied  Baker,  who 
began  to  look  a  little  uneasy. 

Ann  pursued  her  point.  "I  think  he's  one  of  those 
romantic  cow-boys  who  have  seen  better  days — per 
haps  an  English  nobleman  in  disguise." 

Baker  was  always  ready  when  a  chance  to  get  even 
with  Raymond  offered  itself.  He  puckered  his  plump 
face  into  a  frown  of  deep  concern.  "I  guess  you're 
some  right,  miss;  but  he  ain't  no  English  lord,  I  don't 
think.  We  never  inquire  very  close  into  a  man's  pedi 
gree  out  here  if  he  can  ride  a  cayuse  and  flip  a  gun ;  but 
he's  American,  all  right,  and  a  good  cook." 

"Is  Cook  his  real  name?" 

Baker  became  cautious.  "Did  he  say  his  name  was 
Cook?  If  he  did,  that  goes.  I'm  not  in  the  habit  of 
disputing  him." 

"No,  he  didn't  tell  his  name,  but  he  intimated 
43 


Hesper 

I    might  call  him  Cook.      Your  name    is  Raymond, 
isn't  it?" 

Baker  was  again  slow  to  answer.  "Did  he  intimate 
that  my  name  was  Raymond?" 

"No,  but  Mr.  Barnett  said  the  foreman's  name  was 
Raymond,  and  you're  the  foreman,  aren't  you?" 

Baker  seemed  resigned.  "We'll  let  it  go  at  that. 
We  don't  mind  little  things  out  here,  miss.  Never  go 
behind  the  returns  anywhere  in  this  Western  country." 

Ann,  after  looking  at  him  in  silence,  remarked, 
gravely,  "Of  course,  you're  both  having  fun  with  us, 
because  we're  from  the  East,  and  I  don't  think  it  quite 
nice  in  you." 

Baker  began  to  look  distressed.  "Oh,  see  here, 
miss,  you  mustn't  think —  You're  all  wrong!  Why, 
we're  delighted — we — you  see — " 

Ann  turned  to  Louis.  "Louis,  you  are  living  out 
one  of  Owen's  stories  this  very  minute.  I  want  you  to 
stay  here  until  you  can  meet  these  people  on  their  own 
ground."  She  faced  Baker  again.  "  Tell  me  more  about 
this  cook.  He's  a  college  man,  and  there's  some  hid 
den  mystery — as  the  story-books  say.  What  brought 
him  to  this  pass?  Is  he  a  fugitive  from  justice?" 

Baker  took  a  seat  and  appeared  to  ponder.  "Well, 
now,  I  don't  like  to  say.  You  see,  it  ain't  safe  to 
tell  tales  on  Cook.  If  you'll  swear  not  to  breathe  a 
word — " 

"  Hold  up  your  hands,  Louis,  and  swear!"  cried  Ann. 
"Of  course,  we  won't  tell." 

Baker  settled  into  his  chair.  "You  mustn't  blame 
him  till  you  hear  the  hull  story,  but  he  killed  a  feller 
back  East,  somewhere  in  Illinois." 

Ann  started  melodramatically.     "Rea1ly?" 

44 


Raymond    of  the    Goldfish    Ranch 

Baker,  pleased  with  his  success,  added,  "Two  of  'em, 
in  fact." 

Louis,  wide-eyed  with  interest,  "What  did  he  do  it 
for?" 

Baker,  glowing  with  pleasure  in  the  work  of  his  own 
imagination,  cut  loose  from  his  moorings.  "It  was 
this  way.  He  was  courting  a  girl — the  daughter  of  a 
rich  farmer — and  her  family  was  hot  because  Rob  was 
poor,  and  her  dad  put  another  feller  on  to  tell  lies  about 
Rob's  drinkin'  and  all  that,  and  Rob  met  up  with  this 
feller  and  just  naturally  piped  him  full  of  soft -nose 
bullets;  that  led  him  to  seek  higher  altitudes,  as  the 
newspapers  say.  Now  that's  the  plain  truth  of  the 
whole  business,  as  I  heard  it." 

Ann  pretended  to  shudder.  "He  doesn't  look  like 
that  sort  of  desperado." 

"He  don't  now,  does  he?  But  that's  the  way  it 
goes.  Couldn't  meet  a  peaceabler  man  when  he's  so 
ber.  Set  here  and  read  them  books  all  day  long ;  but 
you  let  him  get  red-headed  once,  and  whisp,  out  comes 
his  gun,  and  then  everybody  hunts  a  hole,  I  tell 
you." 

Louis  pursued  the  inquiry,  "Who  was  the  other  man 
he  killed?" 

"The  deppity-sherf.     Had  to  do  that  to  get  away." 

Ann  looked  about.    "You  say  he  reads  these  books?" 

"When  he  has  time — he  dotes  on  'em." 

"Do  you  read  them?" 

"Great  Scot,  no!  I'd  go  to  sleep  over  such  things. 
The  Boy's  Own  is  about  my  size." 

Ann's  tone  was  reflective.  "That's  queer.  Mr.  Bar- 
nett  said  you  were  a  great  reader." 

Baker  paled,  then  got  red.  He  had  walked  into  a 

45 


Hesper 

clever  little  trap.  He  wriggled  in  his  chair.  "Did  he 
say  that?  Well — I — I  used  to,  but  lately — " 

Ann  looked  at  him  keenly  and  said,  calmly:  "You 
also  are  an  impostor.  Your  name  isn't  Raymond— 
you're  not  the  foreman.  You  are  all  bandits  and  have 
stolen  my  cousin's  ranch,  and  are  running  it  to  suit 
yourselves.  I  believe  you  killed  poor  old  Mr.  Jones 
and  his  wife." 

Louis  sprang  to  his  feet.    "Ann,  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

Baker  threw  up  both  hands.  "Hold  on!  Don't 
shoot.  I'll  come  down.  I  knew  I  couldn't  keep  the 
game  going."  He  rose,  and  his  manner  changed. 
"Now  listen.  I'll  tell  you  the  square-toed  truth.  It 
was  my  turn  to  cook,  and  Raymond — that's  our  boss — 
when  he  heard  you  was  comin',  knowin'  I  couldn't  cook 
sour-bran  mash,  says:  '  Baker,  you'll  have  to  play  boss 
while  the  company's  here.  I've  got  to  toss  up  the  ba 
con  and  prunes.  Now  that's  the  God's  fact,  lady." 

Ann,  with  conviction,  turned  to  Louis:  "Now  I  be 
lieve  he's  telling  the  truth.  What  is  your  name?" 

"John  Edwin  Baker  —  Jack,  the  boys  call  me.  I 
never  had  any  other  name,  I'm  sorry  to  say,  and 
I  came  here  from  Kansas.  I  never  killed  anything 
bigger  'n  a  coyote.  I'm  just  a  plain  cow-puncher  at 
twenty-six  per  month." 

Ann  was  deeply  moved  by  this  honesty.  "Won 
derful!" 

"Furthermore,  I  don't  want  to  kill  anybody,"  ex 
claimed  Baker. 

"Louis,  this  is  your  opportunity.  Do  a  picture  of 
a  good,  honest,  sober  cow-boy  and  send  it  to  Puck." 
She  turned  to  Jack.  "Thank  you  very  much,  Mr. 
Baker.  I  think  I  understand  the  situation  now." 


Raymond    of   the    Goldfish    Ranch 

Louis  looked  relieved,  for  Baker  had  not  appealed  to 
him  very  strongly.  He  was  fat,  and  a  fat  cow-boy 
seemed  out  of  conformity  with  all  his  preconceived 
notions. 

Raymond,  reappearing  at  the  door,  put  them  all  into 
guilty  confusion.  His  eyes  were  too  keen  to  be  with 
stood,  and  Ann's  lashes  fell  for  a  moment  as  he  offered 
the  dipper.  "Like  a  cool  drink,  lady?" 

She  recovered  herself  instantly.  "Thank  you,  if 
you  will  be  so  kind." 

Raymond  threw  a  glance  at  Baker  that  propelled 
him  through  the  doorway  as  palpably  as  a  kick,  then 
turned  to  Louis.  "  How  does  the  grub  go,  youngster?" 

"  Bully!"  replied  the  boy,  as  he  took  up  a  spoonful  of 
rice.  His  eyes  followed  the  lithe  figure  of  the  rancher 
with  joy. 

Raymond  abruptly  inquired,  "What  are  you  squint- 
in'  at  me  for,  boy?" 

"I'm  going  to  draw  you." 

"Well,  draw  me  purty,  or  there'll  be  war." 

"  My,  but  you're  built  for  a  rider!  Can  you  throw  a 
lariat?" 

"We  call  it  a  rope  out  here.  Yes,  I  can  do  a  trick  or 
two  with  it ;  but  our  days  of  roping  cattle  are  just  about 
done  with." 

Ann  cut  in  with  a  grave  face,  belied  by  something  in 
her  voice.  "I  didn't  suppose  a  foreman  would  stoop 
to  cook." 

The  young  fellow  frowned.     "What's  that?" 

Ann  went  on,  "  I  think  it's  nice  of  you,  Mr.  Raymond, 
to  abase  yourself  to  the  rim  of  a  kettle." 

"Excuse  me,  lady,  but  —  "  He  looked  about  for 
Baker. 

47 


Hesper 

Ann  interposed:  "That's  twice  you've  called  me 
'lady.'  No  real  cow-boy  ever  does  that,  I'm  told,  so 
you  must  be  an  impostor." 

Raymond's  face  flushed  with  anger.  "See  here! 
What  has  that  fat  jackass  been  saying  to  you  about 
me?" 

Ann,  calmly  smiling,  made  her  charges  specific. 
"You're  not  the  cook.  You're  called  Robert  Ray 
mond.  You're  the  foreman  and  a  graduate  of  Har 
vard  University,  like  all  superior  cow-boys,  and  you 
have  gallantly  volunteered  to  cook,  in  order  that  we 
might  eat.  Now,  isn't  this  true?" 

Raymond  was  stunned  for  a  moment,  but  as  she 
went  on  his  head  lifted  and  into  his  eyes  leaped  a 
spark  of  red  light.  "Wait  till  I  sight  that  scoundrel. 
You'll  have  a  fine  chance  to  study  a  cow-boy  in  action. 
What  else  did  he  say?" 

Louis  was  becoming  alarmed.  "Don't  tell,  Ann; 
he'll  hurt  him." 

Raymond  turned  to  Louis.  "Now  I  know  he  needs 
killing.  Did  he  tell  you  I  had  a  private  graveyard, 
and  that  I  had  a  stage  name?" 

"Oh  yes,"  replied  Ann,  sweetly.  "He  told  us  all 
about  your  fight  with  your  rival.  It  was  very  thrilling. 
It's  like  being  a  character  in  a  novel  one's  self.  I'm 
quite  exalted  by  the  thought." 

Raymond's  eyes  ceased  to  glower,  a  faint  smile 
quivered  at  the  corners  of  his  lips  as  he  bowed  grace 
fully.  "Miss  Rupert,  permit  me  to  astonish  you  still 
more.  My  name,  though  alliterative,  is  my  own.  I 
have  never  killed  a  man" — he  looked  towards  the 
door — "that  incredible  ass  will  be  my  first.  I  am  not 
a  .graduate  of  Harvard,  and  I  did  not  leave  my  na- 

48 


Raymond    of   the    Goldfish    Ranch 

tive  town  between   two   days.     Does  this   disappoint 
you?" 

"Most  deeply.  Are  there  no  mitigating  circum 
stances?" 

"None  whatever.  I  am  hopelessly  commonplace. 
I'm  not  even  a  cow-boy.  I'm  foreman  of  a  hay- 
ranch." 

"You  destroy  our  dreams.  But  these  books  are 
yours?" 

Raymond's  eyes  wavered.  "Well,  yes  —  some  of 
them;  but  I  don't  care  to  pose  as  the  student -rancher. 
The  boys  respect  me  now  because  I  can  ride  a  horse 
and  pitch  hay.  I  make  it  a  point  not  to  air  my  other 
accomplishments — ' ' 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  series  of  faint  yells,  and  as 
they  all  listened  the  swift  trample  of  horses'  hoofs  could 
be  heard.  Louis  sprang  up,  all  excitement,  his  eyes 
glowing. 

"What  is  that — Indians?" 

Raymond  smiled  at  Ann.  "No,  only  a  bunch  of 
cow-boys  passing."  He  stepped  to  the  door  to  study 
their  approach.  "It's  a  mob  of  Williams's  men.  I 
don't  know  what  they're  doing  here."  The  rush  and 
trample  of  hoofs  swept  nearer,  and  a  group  of  five 
drab-colored  horsemen  drew  up  at  the  hitching-pole 
with  loud  outcries,  each  man  setting  his  pony  on  end 
with  a  wrench  at  the  reins. 

"Hello,  Bob!"  shouted  the  leader. 
"Howdy,  boys — howdy?"  he  replied,  coldly.     It  was 
plain  he  was  not  well  pleased  by  their  inopportune 
call. 

"Got  anything  to  eat?"  asked  one  of  them,  as  he 
swaggered  up. 

4  49 


Hesper 

"Sure  thing.  Tidy  up  and  come  in."  Raymond, 
turning  to  Ann,  said,  gently,  "Perhaps  you  and  the 
boy  had  better  step  into  the  other  room ;  this  gang  is 
coming  in." 

"They're  not  dangerous?" 

"  No,  but  some  of  them  are  not  fit  to  eat  in  the  pres 
ence  of  a  lady." 

"Louis  will  want  to  see  your  guests." 

"Very  well,"  replied  Raymond,  and  turned  to  meet 
his  visitors,  who  appeared  fresh  from  a  hasty  toilet. 
"Come  right  in,  boys.  What's  the  best  word  from 
over  the  ridge?" 

The  man  who  entered  first  was  a  big,  raw-boned, 
wide  -  mouthed,  freckle  -  faced  fellow,  who  gaped  in 
amazement  as  he  caught  sight  of  Ann.  "  Hello,  what's 
all  this?"  he  asked,  hunching  the  man  next  him. 

The  insolent  vulgarity  of  his  tone  brought  a  flush  of 
anger  to  Raymond's  face.  "  Shut  up!"  he  commanded, 
in  a  low  voice.  Then  added,  in  explanation,  "Some 
of  Barnett's  folks  visiting  the  ranch."  At  the  moment 
he  hated  them  all  with  a  sudden  realization  of  their 
essential  cheapness  and  their  filthy  manners. 

As  they  took  seats  each  man  glanced  at  Ann  with 
furtive,  devouring  eyes,  and  she  thrilled  under  the 
scrutiny  as  she  would  have  done  beneath  the  glare  of 
a  wolf.  She  had  a  sudden  sense  of  danger.  "I  am 
getting  close  to  the  elemental  man,"  she  thought,  and 
by  contrast  Raymond  assumed  new  interest.  Though 
his  clothing  was  almost  as  rough  as  theirs,  his  face  and 
voice  betrayed  good  blood  and  refinement.  She  won 
dered  whether  Wayne  Peabody  could  stand  between 
such  a  mob  of  ruffians  and  a  woman.  This  man  Ray 
mond  dominated  them  easily.  She  imagined  them 

50 


Raymond    of   the    Goldfish    Ranch 

worse  than  they  were,  for  they  were  only  a  group  of 
mongrel,  misbegotten  types,  ludicrously  egotistic,  jeal 
ous  of  their  reputations,  and  careless  of  the  rights  of 
others.  Each  fellow  talked  boisterously,  in  order  to 
show  that  he  was  as  good  as  anybody  else. 

Louis  sat  as  one  entranced,  studying  the  groupings 
in  the  sunset  light,  which  had  begun  to  dim  a  little.  To 
him  these  men  were  heroic.  Their  physical  hardihood, 
their  slouching  grace,  their  rumpled  hair,  their  tag- 
ends  of  kerchiefs,  and  greasy  belts  and  cuffs  were  all 
"bang-up  material."  The  avid  glare  under  which  Ann 
shivered  was  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  the  boy;  but 
Raymond  took  note  of  every  nudge,  every  wink  that 
passed,  and  once  or  twice  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  man 
they  called  Speckle  in  a  look  which  stayed  a  coarse  jest 
upon  his  lawless  lips. 

They  talked  of  the  great,  new  mining-camp  on  the 
side  of  Mogalyon,  whereto  they  were  all  bound. 
"They're  strikin'  it  rich  in  the  grass-roots,  and  we're 
going  up  to  take  a  hand  in  it.  Why,  last  week  they 
made  three  strikes  on  Pine  Mountain  within  fifteen  feet 
of  the  surface.  They  say  the  placer  is  turning  out  ten 
dollars  a  day.  So  we're  riding  up  to  turn  a  rock  on  our 
own  account.  The  cattle  business  is  done  for.  Gold- 
chasing  is  the  game  now." 

"  Say,  Raymond,"  called  out  a  little  man  down  by  the 
stove,  "you'd  better  hustle  out  your  gang  and  meet 
that  fire;  it's  comin'  right  over  the  ridge  this  way,  and 
is  getting  worse  every  minute." 

Raymond's  face  betrayed  keen  interest.  I've  been 
trying  to  locate  that  fire  all  day.  It's  over  about 
Round  Top,  isn't  it?" 

11  Oh  no.     It's  away  this  side.     Look's  like  it  s  sure 

51 


Hesper 

to  take  Williams's  hay,  if  he  don't  watch  out,  and  yours, 
too." 

"Why  didn't  you  ride  over  and  see  just  where  it 
was?"  asked  Raymond. 

"Too  busy,"  Speckle  replied,  loudly,  and  the  others 
laughed.  "I'm  after  gold  now.  I'm  sick  o'  forkin' 
hay." 

Raymond's  voice  grew  sterner.  "You  didn't  leave 
Williams  short-handed  to  fight  that  fire?" 

"No  matter  whether  we  did  or  not;  we've  got  done. 
Our  time  was  up;  we've  got  our  pay.  He  can  fight 
his  own  fire;  we're  not  responsible."  They  all  laughed 
as  though  this  were  a  good  joke. 

Raymond's  next  words  were  as  cold  and  calm  as 
they  were  unexpected.  "You  get  up  and  get  out  o' 
here,  every  man  of  you.  I  mean  now."  His  anger 
broke  out  as  they  stared.  "I  don't  feed  men  who 
leave  a  rancher  short-handed  with  a  fire  rampin'  down 
on  him."  He  rose  and  stood  beside  the  door. 

Speckle  rose  and  stared  in  silence,  coffee  dripping 
from  his  jaws.  "You  want  'o  go  easy  with  me,  Rob 
Raymond;  you've  done  me  dirt  enough  already." 

Raymond's  face  was  pallid  with  passion.    "  Get  out!" 

They  perceived  his  deadly  earnestness,  and  tramped 
out,  but  Speckle  blustered :  "  I  see  you  again.  I  get  you 
for  this.  You  crawl  for  this." 

Raymond's  hand  dropped  upon  his  shoulder,  and  he 
landed  outside  the  door  on  all-fours.  With  his  hand 
on  his  revolver,  the  young  foreman  stepped  out  and 
watched  them  mount. 

Ann  could  hear  their  threats  as  they  rode  away, 
and  Louis,  breathless,  absorbed,  his  mouth  open,  stood 
in  the  doorway. 

52 


Raymond    of   the    Goldfish    Ranch 

"What's  the  matter,  Rob?"  asked  some  one  outside. 

"Those  mangy  curs  have  deserted,  leaving  Williams 
short-handed,  with  a  fire  over  on  Porcupine  Creek  and 
coming  his  way.  I  wouldn't  feed  them  when  I  found 
out  what  they  had  done." 

"That's  like  Speck.  He  has  no  more  honor  than  a 
wild-cat." 

Raymond  did  not  acknowledge,  even  to  himself,  that 
the  attitude  of  the  ruffians  towards  Ann  was  also  a 
sufficient  cause  for  kicking  them  out,  and  the  worst  of 
the  whole  affair  was,  he  now  stood  in  the  foolish  atti 
tude  of  a  man  who  has  bullied  a  crowd  of  cowards  in 
order  to  display  his  own  honor  and  courage  before  a 
woman.  When  he  came  back  into  the  room  he  was 
again  sullen  and  silent. 


IV 
Life    and    Death 

AtfN  had  been  absorbed  in  a  study  of  the  cow-boys. 
In  her  own  walk  of  life,  even  the  basest  of  men 
approached  her  clad  in  linen  and  broadcloth  —  sleek 
beasts — with  civility ;  but  here  were  males  whose  lean 
jaws  clamped  upon  food  with  the  eager  haste  of  wolves, 
men  primitive  as  Picts,  with  less  of  law  than  Zulus. 
They  were  not  outlaws  from  society,  for  they  had  never 
known  society.  They  were  desperadoes  for  diversion. 

Raymond's  motive  in  thrusting  them  out  appeared 
more  and  more  a  deed  to  win  applause.  It  lowered 
him,  made  him  less  admirable  in  every  way,  and  when 
he  spoke  to  her  she  withdrew  into  herself  with  a  glance 
which  chilled  and  depressed  him. 

"  Of  course  his  character  is  of  no  consequence  to  me," 
she  thought,  "except  in  so  far  as  he  is  likely  to  influ 
ence  Louis."  The  situation  suddenly  lost  its  spirit  of 
comedy  and  took  on  a  very  serious  cast.  The  plan  of 
leaving  a  sensitive,  poetic  boy  to  the  company  and 
influence  of  men  like  these  became  questionable,  even 
dangerous.  Baker  was  a  foolish  and  stupid  person, 
and  these  rough  riders  troubled  her;  but  Raymond,  to 
whom  the  boy's  eyes  already  turned  with  fervent  ad 
miration,  was  more  corrupting  still,  for  whatever  weak 
nesses  he  might  have  would  surely  come  to  be  active 

54 


Life    and    Death 

and  vital  forces  in  debasing  others.     The  whole  design, 
in  the  light  of  this  encounter,  assumed  the  face  of  folly, 

"I  will  not  leave  him  here,"  she  resolved,  "to  be 
coarsened  and  perhaps  attainted  by  these  savage  men. 
Why,  it  were  better  to  send  him  among  the  Choctaws." 

She  was  deeply  shaken,  rendered  unwontedly  timid 
by  this  turn  of  affairs.  What  madness  to  have  ex 
posed  herself  to  the  flare  of  withering  sunshine  on  that 
long  ride !  What  insanity  to  have  isolated  herself  from 
her  friends,  her  protectors!  and  yet  this  thrill  of  fear 
was  not  without  a  singular  sort  of  pleasure. 

She  could  feel  once  more — ' '  My  fear,  at  least,  is  vivid. ' ' 
Life  being  stripped  of  its  forms,  its  silken  covering,  took 
on  power,  just  as  storms  are  more  vital  than  calms. 
This  powerful  young  rancher,  a  mixture  of  barbarism 
and  culture,  engrossed  her  quite  as  a  mountain-lion 
might  have  done.  His  action  could  not  be  foretold, 
and  she  was  amazed  to  find  herself  carried  entirely  out 
side  herself,  shaken  and  dismayed.  As  he  set  to  work 
to  put  the  table  in  order,  silent  and  sullen  as  before, 
she  watched  him  from  her  corner  with  intent  gaze. 
"How  deeply  can  I  trust  him?"  she  asked  herself. 
"Don  admires  him,  and  he  certainly  is  a  man  of  in 
telligence." 

Louis,  who  had  gone  to  see  the  sunset,  called  to  her 
excitedly,  and  as  she  stepped  outside  the  door  she,  too, 
caught  her  breath  in  wonder  and  admiration,  finding 
herself  face  to  face  with  a  new  world — a  world  so  big 
and  bare  and  lonely  that  her  native  city  seemed  but  a 
fleck  on  the  mind's  horizon.  Far  to  the  southeast  a 
tower  of  smoke  rose.  This  was  the  burning  grass  of 
Porcupine  Creek.  Over  a  swell  from  the  north  a  couple 
of  horsemen  were  loping  steadily,  homing  animals, 

55 


Hesper 

weary  with  their  long  day's  ride  over  the  range.  Their 
ponies'  feet  made  no  sound.  The  smoke  of  the  far-off 
fire  rose  silently.  The  wind  lay  flat  and  breathless 
along  the  sod,  like  a  runner  utterly  spent.  A  nut- 
like  flavor  filled  the  air  —  a  smell  of  ripened  grass, 
dusty  yet  aromatic. 

"  If  we  had  hunted  the  world  over,  we  could  not  have 
found  a  place  more  remote  from  all  we  have  ever 
known,"  she  said  to  Louis. 

The  boy  turned,  his  eyes  ablaze.  "I  like  it!"  he 
exclaimed,  almost  defiantly.  "I  don't  know  why,  but 
it  is  beautiful  to  me!  It  is  magnificent!  And  those 
mountains  —  I  want  to  climb  them  the  way  father 
did.  I  want  to  explore  their  canons.  I  want  to  tell 
our  friends  how  beautiful  they  are." 

Ann  turned  to  the  dim  purple  range,  crumpled  into 
ridges  and  slashed  with  deep  valleys.  "They  may  be 
alluring  to  you,  laddie,  but  they  scare  me — a  little. 
Well,  perhaps  you'll  be  able  to  go  and  see  what  they 
are  like  by-and-by,  when  you  are  stronger." 

"  Perhaps  Rob  will  take  me.  I  wouldn't  be  afraid  of 
anything  with  him.  He's  a  splendid  type.  Don't  you 
think  so?" 

Ann  smiled,  but  answered,  doubtfully,  "He  seems  a 
fine,  resolute  fellow."  Her  sisterly  anxiety  reappeared. 
"But  I  don't  like  to  leave  you  here,  Buddie.  These 
men,  the  best  of  them,  seem  rough  and  reckless.  I 
think  you'd  better  go  back  with  me — really  I  do." 

"  Oh  no !  I'm  all  right  here,  sis.  Rob  will  look  after 
me.  It's  just  what  I  need." 

"Maybe  it  is  for  the  best,  but  I  have  a  feeling  that 
something  is  going  to  happen  to  you.  I  don't  like  to 
go  back  without  you.  I'll  stay  on  a  day  or  two  longer, 

56 


Life    and    Death 

anyhow.  I  want  to  find  out  more  about  conditions 
here.  I  have  a  queer  feeling  at  my  heart.  I  don't 
want  to  leave  you." 

She  was  not  given  to  presentiments,  but  as  she  im 
agined  that  pale  and  fragile  boy  surrounded  by  rude 
and  unsympathetic  cow -herders,  the  keen  point  of 
some  mysterious,  almost  maternal,  pain  touched  her. 
The  loneliness  and  silence  of  this  majestic  world  ceased 
to  allure;  they  became  a  menace.  "Let  us  go  in,"  she 
said,  putting  her  arm  about  his  neck.  "  I  am  tired.  I 
was  never  so  tired  in  my  life." 

"Lean  on  me.     I'm  feeling  fine,"  he  stoutly  replied. 

A  kerosene-lamp  stood  among  the  dishes,  and  the 
driver  of  their  team  and  the  two  late-coming  horsemen 
and  the  Mexican  boy  were  all  eating  together.  Ray 
mond  was  not  to  be  seen,  and  Ann  realized,  with  a  pang 
of  dismay,  how  wholly  she  was  depending  upon  him. 
"Without  him  I  shall  be  scared,"  she  admitted  to  her 
self.  The  other  men  paid  very  little  direct  attention  to 
her  beyond  a  moment's  awkward  pause  and  a  lowering 
of  their  voices.  They  continued  to  discuss  the  fire  and 
their  day's  work.  It  was  plain  that  they  were  of  dif 
ferent  temper  from  the  crowd  Raymond  had  thrown 
from  the  door,  and  yet  they  were  not  prepossesing. 

The  liveryman,  a  short,  dirty,  and  very  assertive 
man  of  small  wit,  was  maintaining  himself  against  one 
of  the  riders  in  an  argument.  "I  punched  cattle  all 
over  them  hills,"  he  was  saying.  "I  know  it's  all  an 
other  fake  like  that  old  Mount  Horeb  business  in  '70. 
It's  nothin'  but  a  cattle-range — a  lot  o'  smooth  hills — " 

"  But  they've  found  the  gold;  they  can't  be  no  ques 
tion  about  it  now.  I've  got  a  brother  up  there,  and 
he  writes  me — " 

57 


Hesper 

"They  told  the  same  kind  o'  yarns  about  Horeb,  and 
see  how  it  turned  out.  They  ain't  an  ounce  o'  gold  in 
this  whole  Rampart  Range.  It  ain't  the  right  kind  of 
formation." 

"Well,  I'm  goin'  up  there,  anyhow,"  said  Baker, 
"as  soon  as  Barnett  can  fill  my  place." 

"So  am  I,"  said  one  of  the  other  cow-boys,  a  dark, 
smileless  fellow  of  nearly  forty  years  of  age. 

"They're  talking  about  Sky-Camp,"  whispered  Louis, 
"the  new  mining-town." 

Ann  nodded,  and  again  the  unimaginable  strange 
ness  of  her  position  swept  over  her.  The  action  and 
accents  of  the  characters  before  her  were  more  unreal, 
more  alien,  than  any  play  she  had  ever  seen.  They  were 
more  unaccountable  than  figures  seen  in  a  dream.  The 
yellow  flame  of  the  lamp,  shooting  straight  into  their 
uncouth  faces,  transformed  them  into  wind- worn  masks 
— only  their  eyes  remained  unclouded  of  the  weather. 
The  flaming  sunlight  of  the  long  day  had  produced  in 
each  a  habit  of  squinting,  and  left  a  fine  clutch  of  lines 
at  the  outer  corner  of  each  lid.  Every  garment  they 
wore  was  tanned  and  faded.  They  lounged  on  the  ta 
ble  with  their  elbows,  like  tired  men,  and  their  spurs 
clattered  and  rasped  along  the  floor  with  every  un 
easy  shifting  of  their  aching  feet.  They  were  engines 
wrought  into  adaptation  to  certain  uses — hardly  human 
to  her.  They  were  loyal  and  respectful — she  could  see 
that — and  yet  the  mere  thought  of  remaining  in  the 
house  unprotected  troubled  her.  There  was  very  little 
comfort  in  the  sight  of  Baker's  fat,  inert  face,  but  some 
thing  chivalrous  and  considerate  went  out  from  Ray 
mond  in  spite  of  his  moody  silences  and  abrupt  ways. 

The  talk  among  the  men  shifted  again  to  a  discussion 

58 


Life    and    Death 

of  the  fire.     "  I  hope  Bob  won't  order  us  out  to  fight  it 
to-night.     I'm  tired  as  a  dog,"  said  one  of  the  men. 

"The  way  I  put  it  up  is  this,"  bleated  the  liveryman. 
"That  fire  started  from  somebody  campin'  over  on 
Birch  Creek,  and  it's  'way  beyond  the  ridge.  It's  got 
to  cross  that  rocky  wash  before  it  can  do  any  damage." 

"Well,  we'll  know  when  Rob  gets  back,"  replied 
Baker,  and  Ann  inferred  from  this  that  Raymond  had 
ridden  away  to  locate  the  fire,  and  heartily  hoped  he 
would  not  be  gone  long. 

The  men  shoved  back,  one  by  one,  and  with  sly, 
curious  glances  at  the  girl,  sitting  so  cold  and  white  and 
still  against  the  wall,  went  out  to  smoke  and  discuss 
her  with  the  driver.  Baker,  mindful  of  his  duties,  re 
mained.  "Don't  be  uneasy,  miss;  one  of  us  will  stay 
here,  anyhow." 

Ann  was  thinking.  "A  year  ago  I  was  in  the  Tyrol, 
and  now — oh,  it  is  incredible!  Did  any  one  ever  do 
such  a  foolish,  such  an  insane  thing  as  this?" 

Louis  was  looking  over  his  sketching  material,  his 
mind  busy  with  plans  for  work,  when  a  shout  outside 
announced  Raymond's  return.  The  lad  rushed  to  the 
door.  "Oh,  Ann,  come  quick!"  he  called,  a  moment 
later.  "Here  he  comes — oh,  can't  he  ride!" 

Ann  reached  the  door  just  as  Raymond  dashed  up 
and  swung  from  his  saddle;  his  voice  was  not  loud,  but 
it  was  stirring.  "Boys,  the  fire  is  climbing  the  ridge, 
and  we've  got  to  fight  it.  Gather  up  your  blankets  and 
gunny-sacks.  We'll  find  Williams  over  there  with  some 
water-barrels.  Hustle  now!  I'll  be  along  a  little  later. 
Tom,  you  take  charge  till  I  come." 

With  groans  and  half -jocular  curses,  the  weary  men, 
loyal  to  their  duty,  scattered  to  rope  fresh  ponies  and 

59 


Hesper 

gather  up  such  material  as  they  had  for  fighting  flame, 
while  Raymond  came  to  the  door  and  brusquely  said 
to  Ann:  "I'll  leave  Baker  to  look  after  you,  Miss  Ru 
pert.  I  hope  you  won't  mind." 

"  Oh,  certainly  not,"  said  Ann,  as  firmly  as  she  could. 

"I'd  like  to  go  along,"  cried  Louis.     "May  I?" 

"You're  needed  right  here,"  Raymond  sternly  re 
plied.  "We're  likely  to  be  out  all  night,  and  your 
sister  needs  you." 

"  Couldn't  Baker  go  in  your  place?"  asked  Ann,  very 
quietly. 

"Jack  isn't  very  energetic.     No,  it's  my  duty." 

"  That's  why  I'd  rather  you  stayed,"  Ann  said.  "  If 
we  should  be  attacked  by  Indians,  or  anything,  Mr. 
Baker  might  be  asleep." 

He  laughed.  "Indians!  There  aren't  any  within 
two  hundred  miles  of  here." 

"But  you  said  you'd  take  care  of  us,  and  Mr.  Bar- 
nett  has  consigned  us  to  your  care." 

He  warmed  beneath  the  allurement  of  her  glance. 
"But  how  would  it  look  for  the  boss  to  remain  com 
fortably  at  home  while  a  fire — " 

"You're  not  the  boss — you're  only  the  cook." 

His  face  lighted  up.  "True  enough!"  After  a  mo 
ment's  hesitation  he  added:  "Very  well,  consider  me 
your  protector — and  cook.  Baker  is  in  for  it,"  and  he 
went  away,  filled  with  a  delicious  sense  of  having  sud 
denly  been  honored  above  his  desert. 

Ann  was  accustomed  to  men  who  flew  to  do  her 
bidding,  but  this  instant  victory  over  the  big  rancher 
pleased  her  unaccountably,  and  she  laughed  softly, 
acknowledging  a  gloW  of  confidence  and  relief  in  the 
promise  of  his  presence. 

60 


Life    and    Death 

Louis  turned  a  sorrowful  look  on  her.  "I  wish  1 
could  go,  sis;  it's  just  the  kind  of  thing  I  want  to  see; 
but,  of  course,  I  can't." 

"No,  you  are  my  knight,  Buddie,  and  I  can't  spare 
you.  Is  your  revolver  loaded?  This  may  be  your 
time  of  trial.  I  feel  very  weak  and  defenceless  here 
in  this  lonely,  horrible  land." 

He  took  a  small,  shining  weapon  from  his  pocket  and 
gazed  at  it  ruefully.  "I  showed  this  to  Jack,  and  he 
laughed.  He  said  such  a  popper  as  that  wouldn't  kill 
a  jay-bird." 

"Perhaps  he  was  joking  you.  It  looks  very  for 
midable  to  me.  Anyhow,  it's  all  you  have,  and  we 
must  prize  it.  I'll  send  you  down  a  larger  one  next 
week." 

Out  by  the  corrals,  the  trampling  and  snorting  of 
excited  ponies  could  be  heard  mingled  with  the  mut 
tered  oaths  of  the  men  as  they  hurriedly  roped  and  sad 
dled.  The  sky  was  darkening  rapidly,  and  the  pillar 
of  smoke  already  glowed  like  a  brazen  tower.  It  rose 
straight  into  the  air  for  hundreds  of  feet,  then  spread 
away  into  a  long,  level  cloud,  showing  that  the  wind 
had  not  yet  begun  to  fan  the  flame. 

At  last  the  men  were  all  mounted,  and,  with  a  final 
command  from  the  boss,  spurred  away  into  the  gloom, 
complaining,  weary,  but  faithful.  Raymond  felt  a  little 
foolish  as  he  faced  the  liveryman  from  Wallace. 

"No,  I'm  not  going — at  least  not  till  I  get  Barnett's 
people  fixed  for  the  night.  You'll  have  to  bunk  in  the 
tool-shed,  I  reckon." 

"That's  all  right.  I'll  curl  down  close  to  my  team. 
I  don't  want  to  run  any  risks  with  a  lot  of  toughs  like 
that  Williams's  gang  cavortin'  around.  They  had  just 

61 


Hesper 

liquor  enough  aboard  to  make  'em  reckless.  I'd  ad 
vise  you  to  look  out  for  old  Turkey  Egg  there ;  he  has  it 
in  for  you." 

Raymond  was  unimpressed.  ''They're  half-way  to 
Wallace  by  this  time,  and,  besides,  Speck  is  a  big  bluff, 
anyway.  We're  rid  of  him  forever." 

"Well,  all  is,  when  you  meet  him  next  you  pull 
first,"  the  little  man  replied,  very  seriously. 

Raymond  walked  slowly  towards  the  house,  filled 
with  a  guilty  joy.  Instead  of  a  night  of  hard  riding 
and  laborious  wet -bag  swinging,  he  had  given  himself 
the  pleasure  of  sitting  in  conversation  with  a  beautiful 
and  cultured  girl.  "I  haven't  earned  this,"  he  ad 
mitted.  "  I  don't  deserve  it.  It's  too  good  to  be  true, 
but  Barnett  will  approve.  Anyhow,  I'm  going  to  en 
joy  it  while  I  can." 

Nevertheless,  this  sense  of  being  a  sneak  and  a  cheat 
threw  over  him  a  gloomy  and  preoccupied  air  which 
vexed  Ann,  who  began  to  question  him  very  much  as 
she  would  have  done  had  she  discovered  unusual  pow 
ers  in  her  coachman.  "  How  do  you  happen  to  be  out 
here,  Mr.  Raymond?" 

He  replied,  bluntly:  "I  don't  know.  I  came  here 
six  years  ago,  because  I  hadn't  any  trade  and  the  cat 
tle  business  was  attractive,  and  I've  been  here  ever 
since." 

"But  you  are  wasting  your  time  and  talents." 

For  a  moment  he  meditated  a  jocular  reply,  but  at 
last  gravely  said:  "  I  know  it ;  at  least  I've  begun  to  feel 
so  lately,  but  I've  drifted  along  from  year  to  year. 
The  fact  is,  I  don't  know  what  else  I  could  go  into,  and 
then  there's  something  fine  about  this  life,  after  all. 
It's  free  and  wholesome.  No  man  is  my  master.  I'm 

62 


Life    and    Death 

afraid  I  couldn't  stand  any  sort  of  confinement  now. 
In  short,  it's  easier  to  drift  than  to  row." 

There  was  a  note  of  despondency  in  his  voice,  in  vio 
lent  contrast  with  the  power  and  decision  of  his  splen 
did  body,  and  Ann  began  to  regret  having  started  him 
on  that  line  of  thought. 

"Yes,  it's  always  easier  to  go  with  the  tide,"  she 
said,  musingly.  "But  in  a  big,  strong  man  like  you 
it  seems  less  admirable  than  in  a  woman." 

" I  don't  admire  myself,"  he  replied.  "I've  felt  like 
a  dough -boy  for  some  time,  and  —  well,  I'm  just 
about  decided  to  try  my  luck  up  at  the  big  camp.  I 
wish  you  would  take  a  letter  to  Barnett,  and  be  sure 
that  he  reads  it.  I  want  him  to  send  another  man 
down  here  to  take  my  place.  But,  see  here,  you're 
both  tired  and  want  to  go  to  bed. ' '  He  rose  and  lighted 
a  second  lamp.  "Mrs.  Barnett's  bed  is  in  this  room" 
— he  opened  a  door  on  the  side  opposite — "I'll  see  if  it 
is  prepared." 

Ann  interposed.  "Oh  no!  I'm  not  so  helpless  as 
that.  Let  me  take  the  light.  I  will  do  very  well, 
never  fear." 

He  yielded  to  her.  "I'll  get  you  some  water,  and  I 
hope  there  are  some  clean  towels.  Let  me  know  if 
there  is  anything  else  I  can  do." 

"You  are  very  thoughtful." 

"We  try  to  keep  that  room  ready,  so  that  when  the 
folks  come  down  it  will  be  tolerable." 

"I'm  quite  sure  it  will  do,"  she  said,  definitely,  and 
entered  the  room. 

Raymond  turned  to  Louis.  "Youngster,  can  you 
shoot?" 

"Not  very  well." 

63 


Hesper 

"  Learn.  A  man  going  round  this  country  with  a 
young  woman  wants  to  be  prepared  for  war.  He  may 
never  have  any  need  of  a  gun,  and  then  again,  unex 
pected,  he  may.  A  gang  of  hoboes  like  that  to-day  is 
dangerous  when  they  get  to  drinking,  and  it  stands  a 
man  in  hand — "  He  made  a  sign  commanding  silence. 

Ann  reappeared  with  a  pitcher  in  her  hands.  "If 
you'll  fill  this  for  me?" 

"With  pleasure,"  he  quickly  replied.  After  filling  it 
and  placing  it  in  her  room,  he  asked:  " Now,  which  bag 
is  yours?  I'll  pass  that  in." 

"  This  one.  But  where  are  you  and  Louis  to 
sleep?" 

"Right  here."  He  caught  at  a  sort  of  frame  hung 
upon  the  wall.  It  fell  and  was  transformed  into  a 
bunk.  "Right  here,  close  beside  your  door,  I'll  put 
the  youngster.  I'll  not  take  much  sleep  to-night.  The 
boys  will  need  some  hot  coffee  when  they  come  in." 
He  walked  to  the  door  and  stood  there  looking  away 
towards  the  fire.  "I'm  afraid  they've  an  all-night  job 
of  it.  The  mountain  wind  is  springing  up." 

"  If  you  really  feel  that  you  ought  to  go — "  she  began, 
rather  feebly. 

"Would  you  feel  safer  if  I  stayed?"  His  voice  pos 
sessed  a  note  of  tenderness  as  he  asked  this  question. 
His  tail  form,  outlined  on  the  outer  darkness,  again 
appealed  to  her  with  power. 

She  hesitated.  "  I  never  was  among — I  mean  I  have 
never  been  separated  from  my  kind  in  this  way  before. 
I  am  a  city  dweller,  and,  I  confess,  I  am  a  little  ner 
vous." 

"Then  you'd  like  me  to  stay?"  he  insisted. 

"Yes,  I  wish  you  would." 

64 


Life    and    Death 

''Then  I  will  do  so.  I'm  sure  Barnett  will  excuse 
me  when  he  knows — " 

Something  —  a  whip,  a  pistol  —  snapped  far  out  in 
the  darkness,  a  little  slapping  sound,  a  puff  of  dust  rose 
from  Raymond's  broad  breast,  and  he  put  his  hand  to 
his  heart  with  a  quick,  indrawn  gasp  of  pain.  "Oh!" 

"What  was  that?"  asked  Ann. 

He  swayed  back  against  the  door-frame,  and  a  yel 
low-white  pallor  came  to  his  face.  "Some  one  has 
touched  me,"  he  said,  slowly,  through  his  set  teeth. 
"  It's  that  cowardly  hound  Speck.  Go  call  your  driver. 
I'm  shot."  He  tried  to  walk  to  a  chair,  but  reeled  and 
fell. 

Ann's  first  impulse  was  towards  laughter.  It  was  so 
absurd,  so  melodramatic,  so  perfectly  impossible.  "He 
is  trying  to  frighten  us,"  she  thought,  looking  down  at 
him,  but  Louis  ran  out  screaming  for  Watson. 

Raymond  partly  rose  and  faced  her.  Big  drops  of 
agony-sweat  gleamed  on  his  forehead.  "It's  no  joke," 
he  gasped,  seeming  to  divine  her  feeling.  "He's  put 
it  right  through,  just  above  my  heart.  Don't  let  me 
bleed  to  death,"  he  ended,  with  guttural  harshness,  and 
began  to  tear  at  his  coat  in  the  effort  to  get  it  off. 
"Damn  him — to  shoot — in  the  dark — "  And  as  he 
took  away  his  hand  and  studied  his  palm,  which  was 
red  with  blood,  Ann's  heart  grew  sick  with  horror. 
Her  limbs  grew  numb  and  weak.  Then,  as  she  watched 
him  tearing  feebly  at  his  coat,  the  long-dormant  woman 
in  her  awoke.  She  ceased  to  tremble  and  fell  on  her 
knees  beside  him. 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  calm 
and  clear,  her  fingers  firm.  When  his  coat  was  off,  he 
sank  again  exhausted,  breathing  hard. 


Hesper 

"Cut  away  my  shirt — get  at  that  hole  and  plug  it," 
he  commanded.  "Anything  that  will  fill  it.  You'll 
find  some  scissors  there  in  that  box — in  the  window — " 

His  shirt  was  wet  with  blood,  and  yet  the  girl  clipped 
it  away  with  steady  hands.  He  looked  down  at  the 
wound  and  then  smiled  up  at  her.  "I'm  all  right.  It 
was  a  steel-jacketed  30-30;  it  won't  bleed  much,  and 
it's  above  my  lung.  I'll  fool  him  yet." 

The  driver,  wild  of  eye  and  much  crumpled  of  hair, 
scrambled  into  the  room.  "Who  did  it?  My  God! 
who  did  it?" 

"Never  mind  who  did  it.  Plug  this  hole,"  com 
manded  Raymond.  "  Bring  some  cold  water  and  pour 
on  it." 

Ann  saw  that  the  driver's  wits  were  too  muddled  to 
permit  of  proper  action,  and  while  her  tense  nerves 
quivered  she  bathed  the  wound,  which  was  already 
ceasing  to  bleed. 

"Turn  me  over,  Cap,"  called  Raymond.  "You'll 
find  another  vent  on  the  other  side." 

Louis  and  the  driver  turned  him  gently  on  his  face, 
and  Ann  was  horrified  to  find  an  uglier  wound  than  the 
other.  Sick  with  horror  as  she  was,  she  contrived  to 
cut  away  the  shirt,  and  stanched  the  blood  as  before. 

Raymond  was  recovering  from  the  first  shock  of  the 
wound,  and,  though  his  breathing  was  troubled,  his 
mind  was  clear.  "  Now,  Watson,"  he  said  to  the  driver, 
"spread  some  blankets  under  me — and  then  you  go 
out  to  the  corral  and  take  my  brown  mare — with  the 
saddle  on — and  slide  out  for  Wallace  and  bring  a  doc 
tor.  Don't  urge  the  mare — just  let  her  take  her  gait; 
— and  don't  ride  her  back.  Leave  her  there — " 

After  the  driver  had  helped  him  to  a  bed  on  a  blanket, 

66 


Life    and    Death 

Raymond  added,  "Now  I've  got  to  be  quiet  and  wait, 
that's  all  there  is  about  it."  He  looked  at  Ann.  "  You 
can  go  to  bed  and  sleep.  Youngster,  you're  in  for  sen 
tinel  duty  to-night — " 

Ann  interrupted  him.  "You  must  not  talk,  not  an 
other  word!  Lie  perfectly  still.  We  will  keep  cool 
bandages  on  your  wound  till  the  doctor  comes." 

He  submitted  to  her  directions  and  lay  quiet,  moving 
only  to  allow  her  to  change  the  compress.  Louis,  when 
he  knew  what  was  needed,  became  almost  as  deft  as 
Ann,  and  relieved  her  of  the  painful  task  of  replacing 
the  bandages.  But  the  powerful  frame  of  the  ranch 
man  grew  each  moment  more  inert,  and  at  last  they 
could  not  dress  the  wound  at  his  back. 

Ann  sat  in  a  sort  of  stupor,  oppressed  with  this 
sudden  contact  with  murder  and  sudden  death.  She 
longed  to  escape,  to  recover  the  care-free,  clean,  and 
peaceful  life  she  had  put  aside.  She  resented  it  all. 
"Why  have  I  been  brought  to  such  a  brutal  and  dis 
gusting  country?"  she  said  to  herself,  and  at  the  mo 
ment  this  cowardly  assault  seemed  typical  of  the  West. 
"  I  shall  return  to  the  East  at  once." 

Louis,  for  his  part,  was  exalted  by  the  suddenness 
with  which  he  had  been  brought  into  contact  with  what 
he  considered  real  life,  and  into  service  to  a  man  dying 
of  a  gun-shot.  These  were  the  experiences  he  had 
hoped  to  take  part  in,  and  in  his  mind  this  incident  be 
gan  to  take  shape  as  a  story  of  revenge. 


V 

Ann's    Vigil 

FOR  a  long  time  the  silence  remained  unbroken, 
except  now  and  then  when  the  girl  bent  over  the 
silent  figure  to  ask,  "  Can  I  do  anything  for  you?"  Each 
time  she  listened  with  added  fear,  hoping  eagerly  for 
his  voice.  To  have  him  die  there  would  be  too  horri 
ble.  Looking  down  on  a  wounded  man  she  found  to 
be  a  deeply  moving  point  of  view.  Merely  to  see  the 
closed  eyes  and  the  hollow,  haggard  face,  was  a  trans 
forming  experience,  but  to  feel  that  his  life-blood  was 
ebbing  away  while  she  sat  helplessly  by  was  akin  to 
murder. 

"Oh,  I  wish  we  could  do  something,"  she  whispered 
now  and  again  to  Louis. 

The  boy,  worn  out  with  his  day's  excitement,  struggled 
manfully  to  keep  awake,  but,  as  the  night  deepened, 
slumber  rose  about  him  like  a  wreath  of  benumbing  in 
cense.  His  sense  of  what  had  taken  place  dulled,  his 
head  nodded  and  drooped,  and  at  last  Ann  lowered  him 
to  the  floor,  where  he  slept,  his  cheek  pillowed  upon  her 
feet. 

Again  the  singularity  of  the  chance,  the  absurd  un 
reality  of  the  situation,  came  upon  the  self-contained 
girl,  inciting  her  to  a  sort  of  hysterical  laughter.  Here 
now  she  sat — Ann  Rupert — most  conventional  of  per- 

68 


Ann's   Vigil 

sons,  in  a  rude  ranch  -  house,  alone  with  a  strange, 
rough  man  sleeping  in  deathlike  trance  before  her. 
"I  to  whom  nothing  unexpected  ever  came,"  she 
added.  Truly  this  was  a  domineering  land.  Outside 
a  weird  yapping  and  howling  arose — some  spiteful  dog. 
Dog!  No,  it  was  a  wolf;  and  a  creeping  movement  of 
her  hair  followed. 

The  wind  in  the  big  cottonwood  advanced  upon  her 
with  hissing,  stealthy  motion.  Voices  sibilant  and  pro 
phetic  spoke  to  her  out  of  the  darkness,  and  invisible 
arms  seemed  reaching  through  the  open  window.  The 
wounded  man,  with  tightly  clinched  teeth,  drew  his 
breath  slowly,  irregularly,  stifling  his  pain  for  her  sake, 
but  the  boy's  breathing  was  tranquil  as  that  of  a  babe. 
The  minutes  elongated  like  bands  of  rubber,  attain 
ing  the  length  of  quarter-hours,  and  the  night  stretched 
away  into  horrifying  distance  as  she  sat  tensely  wait 
ing,  hoping  each  moment  for  deliverance,  expecting 
each  instant  to  hear  the  swift  beating  of  hoofs,  the 
hoarse  laughter  of  the  men ;  but  only  the  wind-serpents 
hissed  and  the  wolf  howled. 

At  last  immobility  became  intolerable,  and,  lowering 
Louis'  head  to  the  floor,  she  gently  placed  his  doubled 
coat  beneath  it,  and  with  a  mighty  effort  of  the  will 
bent  again  above  the  pallid  man,  so  tragic  in  his  supine- 
ness,  and  whispered: 

' '  Are  you  still  suffering  ?    Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ? ' ' 

He  turned  his  head  slowly,  and  with  a  glance  which 
made  her  shiver,  answered:  "No — I  have  ceased  to 
bleed— I  am  going  to  pull  through— if  my  pulse  keeps 
down.  Won't  you  take  it?" 

Timidly  taking  his  brown  wrist  in  her  soft  finger 
tips  she  tried  to  count  the  pulsing  of  his  blood. 

69 


Hesper 

He  waited  a  little  time  in  silence,  then  said:  "It's 
there,  but  it's  weak.  Don't  you  feel  it?" 

"Yes,  it  is  more  regular  now,"  she  answered,  though 
her  throat  filled  with  the  pity  and  the  fear  of  his  dying 
there  before  her  eyes.  He  was  a  splendid  figure  as  he 
lay  motionless,  straight  as  a  carven  figure  on  a  tomb. 
She  had  never  in  her  life  looked  down  upon  a  man  lying 
supine,  disabled,  and  it  added  to  her  woman's  in 
stinctive  fear  a  singular  tenderness,  an  almost  maternal 
yearning  to  help,  to  minister  to  his  needs. 

He  seemed  to  understand  something  of  this  feeling, 
and,  with  a  little  touch  of  mocking  humor,  he  slowly 
said:  "This  is  a  new  experience  for  you,  isn't  it?  If 
the  boy  were  awake  this  would  be  a  good  subject  for  a 
sketch — the  dying  rancher  and  the  lady." 

"Don't — please  don't!"  she  pleaded. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  going  to  die,"  he  continued,  in  a  hoarse, 
flat  tone.  "I  could  get  up  and  mount  a  horse  right 
now,  only  I'd  bleed  if  I  did.  It's  hard  to  keep  quiet, 
but  I'm  going  to  do  it.  I  can't  afford  to  die  now. 
You've  roused  me.  There's  something  in  the  world  for 
me  to  do."  His  breath  came  a  little  quicker.  "The 
Lord  gave  me  a  talent — I  haven't  buried  it.  I've  only 
hid  it  in  a  napkin — if  I  ever  get  up  again  that  talent 
gets  burnished." 

"You  must  not  talk,"  she  whispered.  "Please — it 
will  do  you  harm." 

She  put  her  hand  impulsively  on  his  forehead  as  if 
he  were  a  child,  and  he  closed  his  eyes  and  lay  in  silence 
for  several  minutes.  When  she  withdrew  her  palm 
he  muttered,  "Leave  it  there,  it — is  so  cool  and  soft." 

"Would  you  like  a  wet  cloth  on  your  head?" 

"No — only  your  hand — if  you  don't  mind — " 

70 


Ann's  Vigil 

Her  feeling  towards  him  at  the  moment  was  like 
that  she  manifested  towards  her  brother.  "I  don't 
mind,  if  it  helps  you,"  she  answered,  but  a  flush  rose 
to  her  face. 

He  had  a  fine  brow  —  she  could  not  help  noticing 
that — full  and  white,  and  his  neck  was  very  fair  below 
the  red-brown  mask  which  the  fierce  sun  and  withering 
wind  had  put  upon  him.  It  was  not  a  gentle  face,  but 
it  was  handsome  and  interesting.  The  lips  were  re 
fined  and  the  eyes  sincere.  Some  one  must  have  loved 
htm  deeply — a  sister,  a  mother.  This  gave  her  a  new 
thought.  "Would  you  like  us  to  send  word  to  any 
body  in  the  East — to  your  mother?" 

He  hesitated.  "No;  not  unless  the  doctor  advises 
it."  His  thought  turned  towards  her  perplexities 
again.  "The  boys  will  come  in  soon,  and  then  you  can 
go  to  bed  and  rest.  I'm  sorry  to  trouble  you.  You 
can  go  now.  I'm  all  right." 

"I  shall  not  leave  you,"  she  firmly  replied. 

"You're  mighty  good,"  he  said,  simply. 

The  night  wore  on  interminably.  Once  a  fierce 
yapping  and  howling  broke  forth  close  to  the  corral, 
and  the  girl  started  visibly,  but  the  wounded  man 
Whispered,  "  Don't  be  scared— coyotes— perfectly  harm 
less,"  and  she  was  instantly  relieved.  He  knew  the 
wild  and  its  danger. 

Strange  to  say,  she  no  longer  bemoaned  her  folly  in 
having  been  dragged  into  this  world.  She  no  longer 
thought  of  herself  as  an  alien.  Something  of  the 
exaltation  which  irradiates  the  faces  of  the  devoted 
Sisters  of  Charity  came  to  her.  She  glowed  with  a 
species  of  pleasure  born  of  the  conviction  that  she 
Was  doing  a  little  of  Christ's  work  in  the  world.  She 


Hesper 

had  never  been  a  visitor  of  slums,  had  never  enacted 
the  role  of  Lady  Bountiful,  and  yet  her  life  had  not 
been  sensual.  She  had  simply  avoided  responsibility. 
Suffering,  guilt,  death  had  not  come  near  her.  Aside 
from  her  sense  of  duty  towards  her  brother  she  had 
never  acknowledged  obligation,  and  this  sudden  reach 
ing  call  of  a  stricken  human  soul  filled  her  with  new 
conceptions  of  human  need.  Suppose  this  man  were 
about  to  die?  What  comfort  could  she  give? 

She  had  never  been  a  devout  Christian,  though  she 
formally  attended  church  and  tepidly  read  her  prayers 
with  the  congregation;  but  now  she  wished  for  some 
power  to  solace — to  prepare  a  soul  for  death.  This 
splendid  youth,  lying  along  the  brink  of  the  grave, 
caused  her  to  grasp  at  the  known  and  to  question  the 
unseen.  She  was  amazed  to  find  herself  nearing  him, 
desiring  to  help  him,  and  her  anxiety  became  a  be 
numbing  pain. 

After  some  hours  of  troubled  dozing,  the  wounded 
man  opened  his  eyes  and  said,  thickly,  in  a  tone  he  had 
not  used  before,  "Nell,  I  thought  you  were  in  Europe?" 

Ann's  blood  froze  with  a  new  terror.  She  read  in 
these  words  the  delirium  which  precedes  death.  The 
fevers  of  the  man's  breast  had  reached  his  brain!  His 
breathing  indicated  growing  pain. 

His  voice  was  reproachful.  "Won't  you  speak  to 
me,  Nellie.  I  don't  blame  you.  I  disgraced  you  all, 
but  I  didn't  mean  to  do  so." 

She  laid  her  hand  gently  on  his  forehead.  "Hash! 
You  must  not  talk.  Be  very  quiet." 

He  raised  his  big,  brown  right  hand,  and  brought  her 
palm  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it. 

MNo,  no!"  she  cried,  putting  his  hand  down  by  his 

72 


Ann's   Vigil 

side  again.  "You  must  not  move.  You  are  hurt. 
Don't  you  remember?  You  must  not  stir  till  the  doc 
tor  comes." 

His  eyes  became  troubled  and  wondering.  "I — I 
thought  you  were  Nellie."  He  raised  his  head  and 
cleared  his  eyes.  "What's  the  matter  with  me?" 

In  terror  she  fell  upon  her  knees  at  his  side.  "Please 
don't !"  She  put  both  her  hands  to  his  face  and  pressed 
his  head  back  upon  his  pillow.  "You  must  not  move. 
You  will  open  your  wounds  again." 

He  smiled  curiously.  "All  right;  I  feel  as  if  I'd 
been  punishin'  wet  'boodle.'  My  head  is  hot.  Noth 
ing  so  good  as  a  wet  towel — pounded  ice — " 

"If  you'll  be  very  still  I'll  go  get  some  water.  Do 
you  promise?" 

"Oh  yes,  I'll  promise." 

Hastily  sopping  her  handkerchief  in  water,  she  laid 
it  on  his  brow,  which  was  burning  with  heat.  His  face 
and  neck  were  now  flushed  and  swollen,  and  his  eyes 
very  bright.  Putting  her  hand  over  them,  she  said, 
firmly,  "Now  shut  your  eyes  and  go  to  sleep." 

He  grew  still— deathly  still— once  more.  Only  the 
throbbing  of  the  fevered  veins  of  his  temples  told  of  his 
laboring  heart's  continued  action.  For  a  long  time 
Ann  sat  thus,  her  outstretched  arms  aching  with  the 
constraint,  but  at  last  he  seemed  to  sleep,  and  she 
was  free.  Rising,  she  took  from  her  hand-bag  a  little 
medicine-case,  and  from  one  of  the  phials  marked  "Fe 
vers  ' '  she  poured  a  few  pellets.  These  she  dropped  into 
a  glass  with  a  little  water,  and  returned  to  her  seat  be 
side  the  sleeping  man  with  a  feeling  of  power,  a  sense  of 
being  prepared  to  deal  with  his  rising  pulse ;  his  wound 
was  beyond  her  skill. 

73 


Hesper 

At  a  little  past  three,  faint  and  far,  arose  the  cheerful 
crowing  of  a  cock.  Her  heart  burned  with  joy — the 
morning  was  near !  Hastening  to  the  window,  she  was 
able  to  detect  a  faint  golden  refulgence  overspreading 
the  eastern  sky.  As  she  exulted,  the  cock's  call  was  re 
peated,  and  then  a  long,  sharp,  wailing  howl  answered 
it.  It  was  the  morning  song  of  the  wolf. 

As  she  waited  the  light  came,  and  voices  faint  and  far 
away  touched  her  ear,  and  then  slowly,  moving  in  a 
disorderly  squad,  the  weary  fighters  of  flames  came 
riding  down  the  slope  and  across  the  meadow.  Their 
words,  even  as  sounds,  seemed  weary  and  spiritless. 
So  impatient  of  their  slow  approach  was  she,  the  girl 
leaned  far  out  of  the  window,  eager  to  scream ;  but  her 
better  judgment  deterred  her,  and  with  both  hands 
clinched  on  the  window-sill,  her  white  face  ghastly  pale 
in  the  growing  light  of  the  morning,  she  awaited  their 
approach.  "Why  do  they  not  hurry?" 

The  herders  did  not  ride  up  to  the  house  as  she  ex 
pected  them  to  do,  but  turned  aside  towards  the  stables, 
and  she  could  hear  them  as  they  dropped  their  saddles 
and  turned  their  tired  ponies  loose.  "  Surely  they  will 
come  now."  Then  all  was  still  save  the  crowing  of 
the  cocks  and  that  sad  howling  of  the  wolf  on  the 
hill. 

Unable  to  endure  the  suspense,  she  tiptoed  across 
the  floor  and  hurried  out  towards  the  corrals,  her  heart 
in  her  throat  with  fear  of  the  body  on  the  floor.  She 
ran  as  silently  as  possible,  as  if  to  avoid  rousing  some 
fierce  animal,  and  was  close  upon  the  men  before  they 
saw  her. 

"What's  that!"  she  heard  one  quick,  keen  voice  cry 
out. 

74 


Ann's   Vigil 

Then  each  man  rose  from  the  heap  of  blankets  where 
in  he  lay  curled  like  an  Arctic  dog. 

Ann  answered  them  breathlessly.  "Come  to  the 
house,  quick.  Mr.  Raymond  is  shot!" 

Their  responses  were  like  bullets:  "Shot!  Who  shot 
him?" 

Some  one  fired  out  of  the  darkness — he  was  stand 
ing  in  the  doorway.  He  is  delirious.  I'm  all  alone. 
He  must  have  help!" 

"Where's  Watson?" 

"Gone  for  the  doctor." 

Shaking  loose  from  his  bed,  Baker  started  on  the  run 
for  the  house,  but  Ann  cried  out,  sharply:  "Wait!  Go 
quietly.  You  must  not  excite  him;"  and,  walking  be 
side  him,  she  returned  to  the  house,  and  in  a  sort  of 
daze  the  other  herders  silently  followed.  The  jangle 
of  Baker's  big  spurs,  familiar  and  penetrating,  called 
Raymond  to  a  knowledge  of  his  surroundings. 

He  turned  his  head  and  looked  at  the  men  in  a  way 
that  made  them  shrink,  and  asked:  "How's  the  fire? 
Did  you  stop  it?" 

Baker  replied,  "Yes,  we  got  her  under." 

Raymond  half  closed  his  eyes.  "I'm  glad  you're 
here.  This  lady  needs  a  rest.  Somebody  did  for  me." 

Perry,  the  Mexican  boy,  with  a  face  white  with  pas 
sion,  uttered  a  sobbing  moan,  and,  rushing  across  the 
room,  fell  on  his  knees  beside  his  boss. 

"Who  did  it?  Tell  me!  I  will  hunt  him!  I  will 
kill  him!" 

His  voice,  tense,  muffled  with  passion,  thrust  Ann  to 
the  heart;  but  Raymond,  putting  his  hand  on  the  boy's 
head,  said,  gently:  "Keep  cool,  boy.  Baker,  you  and 
Jones  and  Skuttle  stay  here.  Perry,  you  saddle  a 

75 


Hesper 

horse  and  get  Abe  and  his  wife.  Miss  Rupert,  you  go 
to  bed;  the  boys  will  look  after  me  now.  I  can't  let 
you  wear  yourself  out  for  me." 

But  Ann  could  not  so  easily  be  put  aside  from  her 
plain  duty.  "No,  I  will  stay  till  the  doctor  comes. 
Men  " — she  turned  to  the  cow-boys — "  he  ought  to  have 
an  easier  bed.  Can't  you  lift  him — 

Raymond  spoke  again:  "No,  don't  bother.  I'm 
used  to  hard  beds." 

The  herders  recovered  from  their  awe  as  they  listened 
to  the  sound  of  their  foreman's  voice.  Though  weak 
and  broken,  it  was,  after  all,  that  of  the  master,  and 
familiar. 

Baker,  hardly  able  to  speak,  hoarsely  murmured, 
"What  can  we  do,  miss?" 

"I  don't  know  —  nothing  except  to  put  something 
soft  beneath  him." 

And  so,  to  her  own  wonderment,  Ann  found  herself 
in  direct  and  full  control  of  a  gang  of  clumsy,  rough,  but 
resolute  men — men  who  could  break  a  savage  horse  or 
fight  flame  all  night  long,  but  who  knew  not  how  to  lay 
hands  upon  a  wounded  comrade.  And,  stranger  yet, 
she  found  herself  warming  under  their  naive  admiration 
of  her  skill  and  judgment. 

At  last,  when  the  wounded  man  was  lying  comfort 
ably  on  a  thick  pile  of  blankets,  and  the  white  light  of 
the  morning  filled  the  cabin,  Ann  yielded  to  his  entrea 
ties,  went  to  her  room,  and  threw  herself  down  upon  her 
bed  with  a  sense  of  having  put  all  her  easeful,  careless 
girlhood  behind  her.  It  was  as  if  she  had  suddenly 
been  flung  into  a  gray  and  bitter  sea  far  from  shore. 

Louis,  who  had  been  roused  by  the  return  of  the 
herders,  and  who  sat  watching  their  slow  and  painfully 

76 


Ann's  Vigil 

cautious  handling  of  the  sufferer  with  the  mute,  un 
emotional  gaze  of  a  sleepy  kitten,  followed  his  sister 
into  the  inner  room  and  stood  in  silence  till  his  bewil 
derment  left  him  and  his  perplexity  crystallized  into 
words.  Then  he  said: 

"Jupiter!  I  didn't  know  you  could  do  such  things. 
What  do  you  think?  Is  he  going  to  die?" 

"  I  don't  know,  laddie.  I  hope  not.  I've  done  all  I 
can." 

Ann  must  have  dropped  asleep  thereafter,  for  when 
she  woke  the  horizontal  rays  of  the  flaming  sun  filled 
the  room,  and  the  loud  and  hearty  voice  of  a  woman 
could  be  heard  out  in  the  kitchen.  Her  words  came 
distinctly  to  Ann's  ears.  "  Now,  Rob,  you've  got 
me  to  deal  with.  I'll  cuff  your  ears  if  you  don't 
do  as  I  say.  You've  got  to  eat  to  keep  your  strength 
up." 

Ann  rose  hastily,  but  paused  before  the  closed  door 
with  a  new  and  singular  timidity.  The  coming  of  an 
other  woman  made  her  own  position  embarrassing. 
With  a  return  of  resolution  she  opened  the  door  and  met 
the  big,  gray  eyes  of  a  tall,  broad-shouldered,  slatternly 
woman,  who  stood  over  Raymond  with  a  bowl  of  steam 
ing  broth  in  her  hand.  She  was  neither  deft  nor  dainty, 
but  Ann  perceived  that  she  was  capable  and  good- 
tempered,  a  natural  nurse,  experienced  in  the  ways  of 
the  border. 

"Good-morning,"  she  called,  and  her  inflections  and 
many  of  her  phrases  were  masculine.  "You  must  'a' 
had  a  right  hard  night  of  it.  Friend  of  the  Barnetts, 
Rob  tells  me." 

Her  familiarity  and  the  essential  commonness  of  her 
77 


Hesper 

tone  repelled  Ann,  who  asked,  with  cool  dignity,  "  Can 
I  do  anything?" 

"Not  a  thing.  I'm  Mrs.  Scribbins,  Rob's  nighest 
neighbor.  We  come  a-runnin'  the  moment  we  heerd 
of  this  thing,  for  Rob's  a  mighty  good  man  and  neigh 
bor." 

Ann  repented  and  held  out  her  hand.  "  I'm  glad  to 
see  you,  Mrs.  Scribbins.  I'm  Miss  Rupert,  and  this  is 
my  brother."  She  turned  to  Louis,  who  had  crept  to 
her  side,  pale  and  silent. 

Mrs.  Scribbins  shook  hands  carefully,  guarding  hep 
broth.  "I  don't  see  how  in  hell  you  kept  Rob  down. 
I've  had  to  just  about  throttle  him  once  or  twice  since 
I  came.  He's  a  headstrong  cuss,  and  hates  being 
bossed  or  nussed." 

"Has  the  doctor  come?" 

"Good  Lord!  no;  but  I've  sent  Abe  up  the  road. 
That  fool  Watson  is  more  'n  likely  to  get  lost  and  never 
get  in ;  even  if  he  did  he  couldn't  get  a  doctor  here  before 
noon,  and  that  Wallace  doctor  ain't  worth  the  powder 
to  blow  him  to  hell,  anyway.  We  need  a  bone-doctor 
from  Valley  Springs.  As  soon  as  Don  Barnett  hears 
of  this  he'll  come  a-runnin'  with  the  best  there  is  in 
the  Springs — "  She  broke  off  suddenly  to  say:  "  Boys, 
you'll  have  to  kill  a  critter.  I  can't  feed  the  people 
that  '11  come  a-rackin'  in  here,  if  you  don't.  Seems 
like  you've  lost  all  the  sense  you  ever  did  have.  Hustle 
out  o'  here,  you're  in  the  way." 

Raymond  lay  on  his  pile  of  blankets,  his  face  expres 
sionless  as  that  of  a  dead  man,  but  his  eyes  called  to  the 
girl,  and  she  bent  to  ask,  "Are  you  better?" 

His  lips  moved  a  little.  She  bowed  lower,  and  he 
whispered,  "Yes — bring  Don — " 

78 


Ann's    Vigil 


"They  have  gone  for  him." 

"They  must  hurry."  Then  he  added,  "Don't  leave 
me." 

With  a  conviction  that  he  knew  he  was  about  to  die, 
she  spoke,  and  her  tone  was  tense  with  a  desire  to  help 
him,  "I  will  not  leave  you — do  not  worry." 

He  closed  his  eyes  again,  and  lay  so  still,  so  breath 
less,  it  seemed  that  he  had  entered  upon  the  last  coma, 
beyond  the  reach  of  any  medicine. 

Louis,  awed  quite  out  of  his  sprightly  self,  drew  Ann 
aside  and  whispered,  "How  is  he?" 

"He  is  worse.     Oh,  I  wish  the  doctor  would  come!" 

"The  boys  say  that  big,  speckled-faced  fellow  did  it. 
He  had  it  in  for  Mr.  Raymond.  Do  you  know,  Perry, 
the  Mexican  boy,  took  a  horse  and  was  going  to  chase 
them  up,  but  the  boys  wouldn't  let  him.  They've  sent 
word  to  the  railway,  and  they'll  have  Speckle  before 
night.  Uncle  Don  said  that  these  fellows  were  only 
hired  men,  but  seems  to  me  they're  a  good  deal  like  the 
old-time  cow-boys.  I  consider  I'm  in  great  luck." 

Ann  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  "What  do  you 
mean?" 

"  Why,  it  isn't  often  you  can  see  a  man  shot,  even  out 
here." 

"  Louis,  I  don't  believe  you  realize  how  heartless  that 
sounds." 

"I'm  seeing  life,"  he  said,  triumphantly. 

Ann  did  not  say  what  she  thought,  but  in  her  heart 
she  replied,  "You  are  seeing  death." 


VI 

Barnett    to    the    Rescue 

BARNETT  was  at  breakfast  when  a  telegram  was 
laid  at  his  elbow  by  the  maid.     He  opened  it 
leisurely,  thinking  it  some  matter  of  business,  but  his 
hands  stiffened  as  he  read: 

"  Bob  Raymond  is  shot.  Send  best  doctor  in  town, 
quick.  WATSON." 

For  just  a  moment  he  sat  in  silence,  then  rose  and 
walked  slowly  to  his  library.  Seating  himself  before 
the  little  desk  on  which  stood  a  movable  telephone- 
receiver,  he  began  to  "make  things  hum."  He  reached 
his  friend,  Dr.  Braide,  and  set  him  in  motion.  He  or 
dered  out  his  racing  automobile.  He  telegraphed 
Watson  to  take  fresh  horses  and  return  by  way  of 
Junction  and  get  best  doctor  there.  "Burn  the  air  as 
you  go,"  he  added. 

After  giving  orders  for  his  valise  to  be  packed,  he 
walked  up  to  Mrs.  Barnett's  room  and  kissed  her  good- 
morning  without  betraying  his  excitement. 

"I'm  going  out  to  the  ranch,"  he  said.  "The  boys 
are  having  trouble  with  the  hay,  and  I  want  to  see  how 
they're  coming  on.  You  won't  mind,  will  you?" 

"  Of  course  not,  Don.  I'm  going  to  be  all  right  in  a 
few  hours.  I'm  glad  you're  going.  You  can  bring 

80 


Barnett    to    the    Rescue 

Ann  home.  You  should  have  gone  with  her  yester 
day." 

"  I  see  that  now,"  he  answered,  dryly.  "  It  will  be  a 
startling  world  for  her.  Well,  I'm  off.  Better  stay  in 
bed  to-day.  I'll  be  back  by  to-morrow  night,  I  think." 

When  he  took  his  seat  in  his  big,  flat,  powerful  auto 
car,  his  face  was  set  in  grim  lines.  "Is  she  all  right, 
Henry?"  he  asked  of  his  engineer. 

1  'In  perfect  order,  sir." 

"She  needs  to  be.     This  is  to  be  a  record-breaker." 

With  his  big  goggles  over  his  eyes  and  his  cap  drawn 
low  down  on  his  forehead,  Barnett  seized  the  wheel, 
and  the  ponderous,  panting  organism  began  to  move. 
Wheeling  into  the  street,  he  let  on  the  full  power  of 
the  engine,  and  when  he  drew  up  at  Braide's  gate  the 
mechanism  was  hot  with  speed,  its  joints  oiled  and 
frictionless — in  racing  trim. 

Braide,  a  small,  smiling,  trig  young  fellow,  came  out. 
"What  is  it  all  about,  Don?" 

"Got  your  tools?" 

He  pointed  at  his  bag,  "Emergency  kit." 

"Then  all  aboard!" 

Henry  leaped  out  and  caught  up  the  bag,  while  the 
doctor  climbed  in  beside  Barnett  on  the  front  seat. 

"  This  looks  ominous.  How  much  of  a  trip  is  it  going 
to  be?" 

"Just  a  short  run,"  answered  Barnett,  as  he  swung 
the  shining  red  bulk  of  the  car  into  Mogalyon  Avenue, 
which  led  directly  east  over  the  plain. 

Beneath  their  feet  the  puff  and  click  of  the  piston 

and  the  purr  of  cogs  grew  each  moment  more  furious, 

until  all  sounds  fused  into  a  humming  roar.     The  keen 

.air  of  the  morning  smote  the  riders  jovially.     The 

6  81 


Hesper 

flaming  sunlight  slanted  upon  them  with  growing  heat, 
and  backward,  beneath  them,  the  sod  swept  like  a 
tawny  carpet,  while  Barnett,  watchful,  intent,  com 
posed,  worked  the  levers  and  valves  with  the  skill  of  a 
practical  engineer.  When  they  had  crossed  the  two 
railroads,  and  were  climbing  the  long,  low  ridge,  he 
casually  remarked, 

"My  foreman,  Raymond,  is  shot,  and  you've  got  to 
pull  him  through." 

"Great  Scot,  Don,  I  can't  afford  the  time!  It  '11 
take  all  day.  If  I'd  known — 

"You'd  have  gone  just  the  same,"  asserted  Barnett, 
calmly.  The  machine  was  again  running  very  swiftly. 
"  You're  here,  and  you  daren't  jump  out,  and  you 
might  as  well  enjoy  yourself.  This  is  to  be  a  record 
run.  I'm  going  to  pull  in  by  noon." 

Braide  was  young  and  a  man  of  red  blood  and  shin 
ing  eyes.  "Very  well;  go  it,  old  sport!  I  can  stand  it 
if  you  can.  I'll  make  it  a  holiday,  and  charge  you 
double  for  every  hour." 

"That's  like  you  doctors ;  your  meat  is  another  man's 
poison." 

When  they  had  reached  the  top  of  the  pass  between 
two  pinon-spotted  hills,  the  road  could  be  seen  for 
miles,  driving  straight  into  the  mist  of  the  mighty 
Missouri  Valley. 

"It's  all  the  way  down-grade  from  here  to  Omaha," 
remarked  Barnett.  "I  could  make  the  run  in  two 
hours — only,  I  mustn't  invite  a  break-down." 

"You  seem  to  value  your  foreman." 

"He's  something  more  than  my  foreman.  He's  a 
splendid  chap.  You've  met  him — the  fellow  who  went 
on  the  'coyote  drive'  with  us." 

82 


Barnett    to    the    Rescue 

"  Why,  certainly  I  remember  him.  I've  met  him  at 
the  club.  But  he  was  very  reticent.  I  didn't  get  at  him. 
Who  is  he?  How  does  he  come  to  be  your  foreman?" 

"He's  a  little  slow  about  telling  his  own  life  story, 
but  he's  all  right.  I  think  I  know  the  cause  of  this 
shooting.  He  got  into  trouble  with  a  couple  of  fellows 
out  there,  and  one  of  them  has  done  him.  It  was  this 
way:  I  am  postmaster  at  my  ranch,  and  Raymond  is 
deputy.  One  day  when  he  was  about  to  send  out  the 
mail  a  fellow  called  Speckle  rode  up  with  three  letters 
to  register.  Rob  laid  the  letters  down  on  the  table  in 
the  room — the  post-office  is  in  one  corner  of  the  dining- 
room — and  slipped  out  to  speak  to  one  of  the  boys. 
When  he  came  back,  Speck  was  gone.  Rob  caught 
up  the  letters  hurriedly,  for  the  carrier  was  waiting, 
and  thrust  them  into  the  bag.  Some  days  later  he  re 
ceived  notice  that  the  letters  arrived  at  the  post-office 
in  Denver  without  enclosure.  Each  envelope  had  been 
neatly  slit  with  a  knife  and  the  money  taken." 

"Well,"  said  Braide — "Speckle  did  it,  of  course?" 

"  That's  what  Raymond  thought.  But  Speckle  made 
counter  -  accusation :  'Would  I  rob  myself?  One  of 
them  letters  contained  money  I  was  sending  home.' 
Moreover,  his  friends  go  on  to  say,  '  One  of  those  letters 
contained  silver,  and  it  is  nonsense  to  say  that  Ray 
mond  didn't  feel  the  difference  in  weight."1 

"They  might  have  been  opened  on  the  route." 

"  No,  the  bag  went  through  to  Denver  without  being 
opened.  The  authorities  came  down  and  investigated, 
but  haven't  come  to  any  conclusion.  This  shooting  is 
likely  to  be  an  outcome  of  the  dispute." 

The  road  was  now  merely  a  trail  across  the  prairie. 
The  farm-houses  were  left  behind ;  only  the  long  reaches 

83 


Hesper 

of  wire  fence  denoted  the  presence  of  ranchers.  It  was 
a  big,  bare  land,  covered  with  a  short,  dry  grass,  with 
occasional  shallow  ravines  in  which  minute  streams  of 
water  percolated.  Cattle  were  scattered  over  the  range, 
but  sparsely.  Occasionally  they  passed  a  prairie-dog 
town,  and  Don  laughed  to  see  them  disappear  at  sight 
of  the  big,  red  monster.  Once  in  ten  or  fifteen  minutes 
Henry  was  forced  to  leap  down  and  open  a  wire  gate, 
and  these  delays  brought  a  deeper  frown  to  Barnett's 
face.  At  last  they  swept  out  upon  the  open  range,  with 
only  the  dry  and  russet  sod  basing  the  hemisphere  of 
flaming  sky. 

As  they  came  sweeping  down  on  the  "  Bar  O  "  ranch- 
house,  half  hidden  in  a  narrow  valley,  all  the  hands  and 
every  child  of  the  family,  including  the  dogs,  rushed  out, 
eager  to  see  the  new  machine,  shouting  for  Barnett  to 
stop ;  but  he  only  shook  his  head  and  bent  resolutely  to 
his  levers,  leaving  them  all  behind  in  a  whir  of  dust. 

Twice  he  met  a  little  squad  of  whooping  cow-boys, 
and  the  bucking  and  the  plunging  of  their  terrified 
ponies  gave  rise  to  splendid  feats  of  horsemanship ;  but 
Barnett,  busy  bringing  out  of  the  great  red  beast  every 
ounce  of  power  that  was  in  her,  did  not  even  glance 
their  way. 

The  doctor,  looking  often  at  his  watch,  shouted, 
"We  are  running  more  than  thirty  miles  an  hour!" 

"We  have  a  sand-flat  to  cross,"  replied  Barnett. 

As  they  entered  upon  a  particularly  smooth  stretch 
of  road,  the  man  at  the  wheel  relaxed  his  hold  and  said, 
with  deep  feeling:  "I  don't  mind  saying  that  I'm  anx 
ious  about  Rob.  I've  grown  mighty  fond  of  him.  He's 
not  one  given  to  confidences,  and  I've  respected  his 
reticence.  I  don't  know  quite  why  he  is  here,  but  I 


Barnett    to    the    Rescue 

trust  him  and  count  myself  fortunate  to  have  him  on 
the  place.  He  made  forty  thousand  dollars  for  me 
last  year  on  hay  and  cattle,  and  must  have  a  little 
bunch  laid  up  for  himself.  It  would  be  devilish  to 
have  him  snuffed  out  by  that  wide-mouthed  black 
guard." 

"I  thought  him  a  little  different  from  the  ordinary 
cow-boy." 

"Cow-boy!  Good  Heavens,  the  man  is  a  gentle 
man." 

"Couldn't  he  be  both?" 

"This  cow-boy  nonsense  is  no  longer  humorous  to 
me.  The  cattle  business  is  on  a  new  basis  now,  and 
what  I  want  is  not  a  woolly  jack  who  shoots  off  his 
mouth  and  his  pistol  on  the  slightest  provocation.  I 
want  steady,  decent  workmen.  Rob  is  invaluable  to 
me  for  the  reason  that  he  controls  these  trifling  'bad 
boys'  of  Missouri  and  Kansas.  It's  a  cursed  shame  to 
have  such  a  man  disabled  by  a  hobo  like  Speck  Han 
son.  It's  murder,  pure  murder,  for  he  must  have  shot 
him  from  ambush.  He  wouldn't  face  him." 

Braide  was  vastly  astonished  to  observe  the  self- 
contained  Don  Barnett  growing  red  with  wrath.  "  May 
be  it  was  an  accident." 

"  Oh  no,  it  was  one  of  that  Hanson  gang.  They  ter 
rorize  Williams.  Saturday  night  he  hides  out  and  they 
run  riot."  After  a  silence  he  said,  slowly :  "  I've  felt  for 
a  year  that  I  ought  to  put  Rob  into  something  bet 
ter;  I  owed  it  to  him.  Now  if  he  dies—  He  broke 
off  and  bent  to  his  wheel  to  hide  the  emotion  that  made 
his  lips  quiver. 

"It  may  be  only  a  flesh  wound.  Anyhow,  we'll  do 
our  best  for  him,"  replied  the  doctor. 

85 


Hesper 

"Here's  our  sand -flat,"  called  Barnett.  "Henry, 
we're  in  for  it." 

The  machine,  hitherto  joyous,  began  to  labor  and 
lag.  Her  master  turned  a  cock  here,  opened  a  valve 
there,  threw  on  the  hill  -  climbing  device,  and  under 
these  stimulants  she  crawled  slowly  through.  The 
men  bent  forward  involuntarily,  as  if  trying  to  push, 
and  the  helmsman  took  advantage  of  every  streak  of 
sod,  every  patch  of  gumbo,  and  at  last,  with  a  whoop 
of  joy,  struck  the  hard  soil  of  the  opposite  hill,  and  up 
the  slope  they  went  with  a  sense  of  victory. 

"We're  all  right  now,  except  for  the  bridge  at  the 
Goldfish  Ranch,"  said  Barnett,  with  a  sigh  of  deep 
relief. 

The  speed  of  the  splendid  chariot  now  rose  to  nearly 
twenty -five  miles  an  hour,  and  on  the  down-grade 
touched  railroad  speed — and  the  young  surgeon  took 
off  his  hat  and  yelled  with  delight. 

"Whirroo!  turn  on  the  juice!"  Then  he  shouted: 
"There  go  some  antelope!  Oh,  for  a  chance  to  race 
with  them!" 

For  an  interval  of  several  minutes  the  antelope — 
three  does  and  two  fawns — ran  parallel  to  the  auto's 
course,  as  if  curious  to  test  its  speed  and  understand 
its  motives;  then  veered  off  and  drifted,  light  as  cot 
ton  wood  down,  across  a  swell  and  out  of  sight. 

It  lacked  ten  minutes  of  noon  as  Barnett  rose  above 
the  last  great  wave  of  the  tawny  sea  and  sighted  the 
clump  of  cottonwoods  in  which  his  ranch  buildings  sat, 
and  two  minutes  later  he  swept  into  the  yard  and  up  to 
the  door,  amid  a  throng  of  singularly  silent  cow-boys 
and  ranchers.  The  first  one  to  speak  was  Mrs.  Scrib- 
bins,  who  exclaimed: 

86 


Barnett    to    the    Rescue 

' '  Jerusalem  the  golden !  You  hain ' t  come  from  home 
this  mornin'  in  that  doggone  thunder-cart,  have  ye?" 

" That's  what.     How's  Rob?" 

"Quiet  as  mice;  but  I  hope  ye  brought  help." 

Barnett  rose  from  his  seat  stiffly  and  climbed  pain 
fully  down,  while  Braide  seized  his  case  of  tools  and 
hurried  into  the  cabin. 

Barnett,  feeling  a  small  hand  gripping  his  arm, 
turned  to  meet  Louis.  "Hello,"  said  he.  "How  is 
Ann?" 

"She's  all  right.  She  saved  Rob's  life,"  answered 
the  boy. 

Ann,  who  stood  just  outside  the  door,  answered, 
very  quietly:  "I  am  quite  well.  How  is  Jeannette?" 

"I  left  her  feeling  very  well—  But  tell  me  the 
truth,  is  Rob  dying?" 

"No,"  said  Ann.  "But  he  needs  help.  He  was 
shot  last  evening— and  has  lain  all  night  in  pain— he 
is  very  weak  now." 

Barnett  hurried  into  the  hot  dusk  of  the  ranch-house, 
smelling  of  the  dinner  which  was  cooking,  and  bent 
above  his  foreman. 

"  Hello,  Rob.     How  do  you  feel?" 

Raymond  whispered,  "Oh,  I'm  all  right  — a  little 
weak — " 

The  doctor  interposed.  "Clear  the  room  of  every 
body  but  the  woman."  He  indicated  Mrs.  Scribbins. 
"  We  must  find  this  bullet!" 

Barnett  turned  to  the  men  who  filled  the  door 
way.  "Clear  out,  boys;  the  doctor  wants  to  be  alone 
now." 

Raymond  smiled  a  little.  '  The  bullet  went  on. 
It's  in  the  wall  somewhere!" 

87 


Hesper 

Barnett  came  to  the  door  and  said  to  Ann,  "You 
better  go  out  under  the  trees  and  rest;  you  look 
tired." 

"  I  will  stay  if  I  can  be  of  any  use." 

"We  don't  need  you — Mrs.  Scribbins  will  help  us. 
Please  go.  Louis t  take  her  away  till  this  is  over." 

Released  from  her  benumbing  load  of  responsibility, 
Ann  laid  her  hand  on  her  brother's  arm.  "Come, 
Louis,"  and  together  they  went  out  along  the  little 
winding  path  which  led  to  the  spring. 

"What  do  you  suppose  they  will  do  to  him?"  asked 
Louis. 

Ann  turned  sick.  "Oh,  I  don't  know.  Don't  speak 
of  it — it's  too  horrible!" 

They  took  seats  in  the  long,  matted  grass  under  the 
willows  which  rose  out  of  the  moist  earth  beside  the 
spring,  and  looked  away  at  the  pink-brown  domes  of 
the  range  warmed  by  the  morning  sun  and  diminished 
by  the  absence  of  clouds.  There  was  balm  and  healing 
in  the  sight  of  them,  and,  with  passionate  voice,  Aan 
cried  out: 

"Oh,  to  get  back  to  the  Springs — to  be  rid  of  these 
horrible,  prying  people!  It's  like  a  nightmare!  I  hate 
them  all!" 

Louis'  sensitive  soul  quivered  with  sympathetic  pain 
at  sight  of  her  tears.  "I'm  awfully  sorry,  sis.  I 
didn't  intend  to  get  you  into  this  scrape." 

"  I  know  you  didn't,  but  I  feel  as  if  my  soul  had  been 
scourged.  I'm  not  fitted  for  such  life  —  such  work. 
I  can't  let  you  stay  here,  laddie.  These  men  are  too 
savage;  they  are  not  suitable  companions  for  a  boy 
like  you." 

"I  don't  want  to  stay  if  Rob  dies,"  he  said. 
88 


Barnett    to    the    Rescue 

"He  won't  die,"  she  said,  with  conviction.  "His 
frame  is  accustomed  to  hardship — it  will  throw  this 
off.  But  you  are  too  young  to  be  mixed  up  in  these 
wild  scenes." 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  peering  away  across  the 
meadow,  where  a  crawling  object  appeared,  curving 
down  like  a  dark -brown  serpent.  "There  come  some 
cattle.  The  cow-boys  are  riding  ahead.  See!  They're 
coming  down  to  the  pond.  Let's  go  up  there  and  meet 
them." 

Ann  followed  him  down  along  the  wire  fence  to  a 
mound  which  overlooked  the  marshy  pool  just  above 
the  stables,  and  there  stood  watching  the  cattle  as 
they  descended  in  an  endless,  thin  file,  from  where 
the  crest  of  the  ridge  cut  into  the  burning  sky,  to  the 
green  valley.  They  approached  in  single  file,  their 
heads  held  high,  their  nostrils  wide-spread.  Even  the 
leaders  were  gaunt  and  poor,  and  all  trotted  with  long, 
eager,  jolting  steps,  and  as  they  came  they  cried  out 
with  voices  hoarse  and  weak  and  high-keyed,  like  those 
of  women  worn  with  pleading.  A  dust  arose  from  their 
feet — a  dust  that  drifted  like  smoke. 

"They  are  starving  for  water,"  cried  Ann,  with  sud 
den  realization  of  the  meaning  of  their  moaning. 

Louis  stood  like  one  smitten  dumb,  his  big  eyes  fixed 
like  the  lenses  of  a  camera  —  eager  to  absorb  every 
detail  of  the  strange  scene. 

As  the  big,  bony  leaders  neared  the  pool,  they  plunged 
in,  catching  at  the  water  as  wolves  snap  at  meat.  Those 
behind  forced  those  in  front  ever  deeper  into  the  cool 
liquid,  while  later -comers  encircled  the  little  pool, 
crushing  and  crowding  one  another  till  those  in  the 
centre  swam,  and  those  behind,  unable  to  find  place, 

89 


Hesper 

swirled  madly  on  the  outer  edge,  moaning  most  pite- 
ously.     All  were  lamentably  gaunt  and  wild-eyed. 

They  soon  formed  a  huge  bowl  or  pit  wherein  they 
moved — a  crater  paved  with  clashing  horns  and  muddy, 
up-raised  nostrils.  The  water  beneath  them  became 
inky  black  with  churned  slime,  and  yet  they  drank, 
gulping  this  liquid  mud.  And  still  they  came.  The 
air  was  filled  with  the  sound  of  their  hoarse  breathing, 
their  whining  and  muttering.  Those  in  the  rear 
seemed  to  stagger  as  they  ran  down  the  hill.  Turn 
ing  to  one  of  the  cow-boys,  who  sat  composedly  on 
his  horse,  Ann  asked,  "Why  are  they  so  thirsty?" 

"We're  moving  'em  across  country,  miss,  and  the 
water  is  mighty  scarce  on  the  divide  between  Wild  Cat 
and  the  North  Fork." 

His  calm  unconcern  dismayed  and  angered  the  girl. 
"Come  away,  Louis.  I  hate  this  cruel  land  and  all 
its  people." 

Louis  followed  her  reluctantly.  To  him  it  was  all 
drama — a  splendid,  robust  play.  He  admired  the  cow 
boy  who  sat  so  calmly  watching  his  thirsty  cattle  bat 
tle  for  a  mouthful  of  wet  slime.  To  Ann  it  was  bar 
barism — unhallowed  and  unnecessary.  "Oh,  what  a 
terrible  country!"  she  repeated,  as  the  horror  grew. 
"  No  wonder  its  women  swear  and  its  men  kill  one  an 
other." 

When  she  re-entered  the  cabin,  Barnett  met  her  with 
a  smile.  "The  doctor  says  Rob's  all  right.  He  in 
sists  that  you  saved  his  life.  You  poor  girl!  What 
a  night  that  boy  let  you  in  for!  I  didn't  know  till 
ten  minutes  ago  that  you  were  here  all  alone,  and  that 
Jones  and  his  wife  had  vamoosed.  I  hope  you'll  for 
give  me,  Ann?" 

90 


Barnett    to    the    Rescue 

"  Oh,  I  blame  no  one  but  myself,"  she  wearily  replied. 
"I  shouldn't  have  come  to  this  miserable,  ghastly  re 
gion." 

"  Rob  wants  to  see  you.  Will  you  come  in  and  speak 
to  him?" 

Ann  reluctantly  followed  Barnett  into  the  inner 
room  where  Raymond,  with  his  wounds  dressed  and 
limbs  properly  clothed,  lay  stretched  on  the  bed.  He 
was  very  pale,  but  his  eyes  were  calm  and  quiet.  He 
reached  a  feeble  right  hand  towards  her,  saying,  pain 
fully:  "You've  been  mighty  good  to  me.  By-and-by 
I  will  try  to  thank  you.  Without  you  I  would  have 
bled  to  death." 

"  I  beg  you  not  to  give  it  a  moment's  thought.  I  did 
very  little,"  Ann  coldly  replied. 

His  eyes  were  round  and  soft  and  appealing,  like 
those  of  a  big,  wounded  dog.  "Don't  leave  me  now. 
I  want  you — " 

She  glanced  at  the  young  doctor,  who  stood  listen 
ing.  He  nodded,  as  if  to  say,  "Grant  his  request." 
And  so  she  put  his  hand  away  gently,  as  if  the  cling 
ing  fingers  were  those  of  a  sleeping  babe,  and  said,  with 
a  return  of  pity:  "I  will  stay  till  to-morrow.  Now 
please  go  to  sleep." 

He  closed  his  eyes  under  her  palm,  and  tears  of  grati 
tude  came  stealing  down  from  his  brown  lashes.  For 
the  moment  she  forgot  that  she  had  known  him  but  a 
day,  that  she,  too,  was  a  stranger — far  removed  from 
him  in  every  thought  and  purpose — and  consented  to 
stay  because  he  clung  to  her  and  needed  her.  A  hand 
seized  her  throat,  and  an  emotion  which  alienated  her 
from  her  old  self  rose  within  her  bosom  and  for  a 
moment  frightened  her.  In  the  end  it  irritated  her, 

91 


Hesper 

this  pity,  and  yet  it  could  not  be  shaken  off.  A  deeper 
self,  which  she  had  not  known,  insisted  that  she  keep 
her  word  to  the  wounded  man;  and  so  for  two  days  she 
oscillated  between  a  pitying  tenderness  for  him  and  a 
disgust  and  bitterness  with  herself  and  her  weakness. 

On  the  third  day  Braide  pronounced  his  patient  out 
of  danger,  and  then  Ann's  pity  died. 

"  I  am  going  home,"  she  said  to  Louis,  "  and  you  must 
go  with  me.  They  are  going  to  take  the  foreman  to 
the  Springs,  and  I  cannot  leave  you  here." 

Ann  said  good-bye  to  the  wounded  man  in  Bar- 
nett's  presence,  and  a  sense  of  irritation  caused  her  to 
be  very  distant  with  him. 

"I  hope  you  will  soon  be  able  to  be  removed,"  she 
said,  evading  his  glance.  "This  is  a  distressing  place 
in  which  to  be  sick,  and  now  I  must  say  good 
bye." 

He  took  her  hand  in  both  of  his.  "  I  shall  miss  you, 
but  I  won't  ask  you  to  stay  any  longer.  You've  been 
very  sweet  and  helpful  to  me,  and  I  hate  to  have  you 
go.  You  will  let  me  see  you  again — won't  you?" 

"  My  cousin  intends  to  take  you  to  his  house  as 
soon  as  you  can  be  moved,"  she  answered,  formally. 
*'  No  doubt  we  shall  meet  again  there." 

•'  I  will  live  in  hope  of  that,"  he  answered,  gallantly. 


VII 
The    New    Life 

ONCE  more  in  Valley  Springs,  Ann's  old  self  re 
turned,  and  the  scenes  through  which  she  had 
passed  became  as  unreal  as  the  happenings  of  a  dream ; 
but  her  sense  of  injury  deepened  into  dislike  of  Ray 
mond  and  the  life  he  represented.  Therefore  she  took 
care  not  to  see  him  as  he  was  borne  into  Barnett 's 
house.  "He  is  nothing  to  me,  and  I  must  decline  to 
be  troubled  by  him  further,"  she  said,  as  she  was 
dressing  to  go  out. 

Mrs.  Barnett,  however,  was  waiting,  and  when  the 
carriage  in  which  he  lay  came  to  the  door,  hastened 
to  take  his  hand  in  both  of  hers  and  make  him 
welcome.  "I'm  glad  you  came,  Rob.  We  are  go 
ing  to  have  you  out  in  a  few  days.  How  do  you 
feel?" 

In  his  weak  state  he  could  only  boyishly  say:  "Oh, 
I'm  on  the  up-grade.  You  and  Don  are  mighty  good 
to  me." 

"Not  a  word  about  that,"  she  cheerily  cried. 

As  the  men  bore  him  through  the  doorway,  he  said, 
with  a  faint  smile,  "I  cut  as  wide  a  swath  as  a  piano, 
don't  I?" 

Barnett,  piloting  the  way,  called  out,  "No  more 
heavy  jokes;  it's  all  the  pall-bearers  can  stagger  under 

93 


Hesper 

now";  and  in  such  fashion  they  rumbled  up  the  stairsr 
the  helpers  on  the  broad  grin. 

As  he  sank  into  the  cool,  delicious  bed,  soft  and  fra 
grant,  tears  of  gratitude  filled  the  strong  young  man's 
eyes. 

"I  don't  deserve  such  treatment,  old  man — a  tramp 
like  me — " 

"  Rats!"  roared  Barnett,  to  conceal  his  own  emotion. 
"  In  the  phrase  of  the  great  statesman  from  Wisconsin, 
'I  seen  my  duty,  and  I  done  it.'  I've  got  you  now 
right  where  I  want  you.  You  do  just  as  we  tell  you." 

"I  submit,"  he  answered,  and  thereafter  abandoned 
himself  to  the  joy  of  travelling  back  to  life  along  such 
ways  of  wanton  luxury  as  he  had  never  known.  He 
permitted  himself  to  be  waited  upon,  even  by  Mrs.  Bar 
nett,  without  protest,  and  when  Louis  came  stealing 
into  the  room  in  awe  and  love  his  heart  went  out  to 
the  boy  as  to  a  brother. 

"  Hello,  younker !"  he  called.  "  You  needn't  walk  so 
soft -voiced;  I'm  worth  a  dozen  dead  men  yet." 

The  boy's  face  shone.  "I  thought  you  were  asleep. 
Can  I  do  anything  for  you?" 

"  No,  only  come  and  sit  down  and  talk  to  me.  What 
have  you  been  doing  since  you  came  back  to  the 
Springs?" 

Louis  took  a  seat.  "Nothing  of  any  consequence, 
except  to  make  some  drawings  of  the  ranch.  It's  dull 
here.  I  want  to  go  into  the  mountains." 

"You're  a  wonderful  youngster.  Wait  till  I'm  able 
to  travel,  and  we'll  go  up  into  the  high  country  to 
gether." 

Louis  clapped  his  hands.  "Won't  that  be  glorious! 
I'd  rather  do  that  than  anything  else  in  the  world." 

94 


The    New    Life 

"How  is  your  sister?"  asked  Raymond,  with  abrupt 
change  of  tone. 

"She  is  well — she's  always  well.  We  just  came  in 
from  a  drive;  that's  the  reason  I  wasn't  here  to  help 
you.  Did  it  hurt  you  going  up-stairs?" 

"Not  a  bit.  The  boys  handled  me  as  tenderly  as  a 
side  o'  pork.  Let  me  see  your  drawings,  will  you?" 

The  boy's  face  glowed.  "Well,  you  just  wait,"  and 
he  rushed  away  to  get  them. 

Mrs.  Barnett,  upon  meeting  Ann,  said,  with  deep  feel 
ing:  "Rob's  illness  has  transformed  him.  He  said  to 
me  a  few  moments  ago,  '  If  you  can  find  the  man  who 
shot  me,  reward  him.  He  has  done  me  a  great  service. 
I  am  lost  in  a  dream  of  luxury.'  There  was  a  beauti 
ful  light  in  his  face.  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  it.  I 
have  known  there  was  a  great  deal  more  to  him  than 
he  was  willing  to  give  out,  but  I  didn't  know  he  had 
such  delicacy  of  sentiment.  He  asked  after  you  with 
emotion,  and  said  he  would  like  to  thank  you  for  your 
service  to  him." 

Ann,  listening  intently,  remained  coldly  impassive  of 
face.  "Mrs.  Scribbins  was  the  really  efficient  person. 
I  have  a  horror  of  sick  people,  and  as  for  wounds — " 
She  shuddered  for  lack  of  words. 

Mrs.  Barnett  went  on:  "I  like  to  do  for  him,  he's  so 
grateful  and  so  obedient.  He  says  just  the  right  thing 
always.  There  must  be  good  breeding  back  of  the  man, 
although  he  never  mentions  his  family.  There's  some 
love  affair  to  account  for  his  being  here.  He's  too 
handsome  not  to  have  had  entanglements.  Don't  you 
think  so?" 

"  He  insisted  not,"  replied  Ann.  "  He  begged  me  to 
consider  that  his  life  had  been  quite  commonplace." 

95 


Hesper 


"I  don't  believe  it.  He  couldn't  be  commonplace. 
He  said  to  me  just  now,  '  Sometimes  a  man  must  hear 
the  wash  of  the  river  of  death  to  realize  how  futile  he 
has  allowed  his  life  to  become.'  His  gratitude  tow 
ards  you  is  pathetic." 

Ann  frowned.  "  It's  worse — it's  oppressive.  I  did  so 
little,  and  that  little  was  not  done  with  a  gracious 
spirit.  I  didn't  enjoy  it  then — nor  in  retrospect." 

"You  mustn't  let  him  know  that.  His  worship  of 
you  positively  irradiates  his  face,  and  he's  very  hand 
some." 

"Yes,  he  is  handsome,"  said  Ann,  slowly.  "I 
thought  him  the  most  superb  animal  I  had  ever  seen  as 
he  went  about  sullenly  cooking  our  suppper  that  night. 
He  resented  our  coming,  and  I  couldn't  blame  him  for 
that.  I  assure  you  he  glowered  at  us." 

"  His  point  of  view  is  quite  different  now.  You  may 
make  light  of  that  night's  experience,  but  he  regards  it 
as  the  greatest  moment  of  his  life.  He  insists  that  you 
were  heroic." 

Ann  grew  a  little  petulant.  "I  wish  you  wouldn't 
try  to  make  mountains  out  of  mole -hills.  It  was 
a  most  unpleasant  experience,  and  I  wish  to  forget 
it  —  not  to  have  it  dinned  in  my  ears  forever.  My 
going  was  folly,  and  my  stay  in  that  ghastly  place 
was  a  torment.  Please  allow  me  to  put  it  out  of  my 
memory." 

Mrs.  Barnett  looked  at  her  friend  in  amazement. 
"Ann  Rupert,  do  you  realize  what  you've  done? 
You've  almost  lost  your  temper.  Wouldn't  I  rejoice 
if  that  night's  vigil  with  death  had  shaken  you  out  of 
your  indirTerentism.  I  tell  you,  life  isn't  the  tepid  thing 
you  think  it  is.  You're  bored  with  things  that  once 

96 


The    New    Life 

seemed  worth  while,  but  there  are  emotional  facts  in 
the  world,  my  serene  lady." 

Ann  rose.  "I  must  go  dress  for  dinner.  Are  we  to 
have  the  usual  collection  of  civil-engineers  and  English 
adventurers?  You  never  had  any  subtlety  of  method, 
Jeannette.  I  don't  mind  your  flinging  these  young 
men  at  my  head,  but,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  be  so  ob 
vious,  or  I  shall  begin  to  hate  your  horde  of  nonde 
scripts." 

Mrs.  Barnett  sank  back  in  her  chair.  "Your  ego 
tism  is  insufferable.  Sometimes  I  think  you're  not 
worthy  the  least  of  your  suitors ;  but  you'll  meet  your 
master  one  of  these  days." 

Ann  disdained  to  reply,  and  walked  away  really 
angry.  "If  she  is  going  to  take  that  tone,  life  here  will 
be  intolerable.  I  don't  see  why  my  friends  should  all 
be  so  eager  to  marry  me  off  without  my  consent." 

She  had  a  moment  of  bitter  homesickness,  a  feeling 
she  had  never  known  before.  This  mad  trip  into  the 
West  with  a  reckless  and  supersensitive  boy  grew  each 
moment  more  disastrous.  At  the  moment  she  fairly 
hated  her  cousins  and  all  the  guests  at  their  table, 
and  longed,  with  unspeakable  hunger,  for  the  roll  of 
carriages  on  Fifth  Avenue  and  the  glitter  and  tumult 
of  Broadway.  The  stony,  uninterested  stare  of  her 
mother  was  better  than  this  prying,  this  overstrained 
interest  on  the  part  of  Jeannette. 

As  for  Raymond,  he  had  been  momentarily  interest 
ing  as  a  cow-boy,  and  when  he  was  lying  at  the  brink  of 
the  grave  he  had  assumed  tragic  value ;  but  now  that  he 
was  on  the  way  to  recovery  he  ceased  to  interest.  "  He 
is  merely  one  of  the  thousands  of  other  commonplace 
young  Eastern  men  who  have  tried  their  fortunes  in 

7  07 


Hesper 

the  West  and  failed,"  she  said.  "Why  should  I  be 
burdened  with  any  further  care  of  him?" 

Her  resentment  still  sat  upon  her  face  as  she  went 
down  to  dinner,  and  though  she  was  more  than  usually 
white  and  impassive  she  was  also  more  alluring  to  the 
young  engineers  and  college  professors  who  bowed  be 
fore  her  with  hearts  of  wax.  The  man  on  her  right, 
a  government  botanist,  just  returned  from  a  four- 
months'  trip  in  the  dearth  and  desolation  of  Arizona, 
had  all  his  fingers  turned  into  thumbs  by  her  beauty, 
and  every  attempt  to  serve  her  threatened  disfigure 
ment  to  furniture  and  to  table-ware. 

Don  told  again,  for  the  fortieth  time,  the  story  of 
Raymond's  shooting,  and  in  spite  of  Ann's  protests 
put  her  in  as  the  heroine,  which  reinfuriated  her  al 
most  to  the  point  of  leaving  the  table.  The  "  Ah's!" 
and  "Dear  me's!"  and  "By  Jove's!"  volleying  from 
the  listeners  were  quite  insupportable.  One  lady 
said,  "Poor  fellow!" 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Dr.  Braide.  "He  was  a  lucky 
dog.  I'd  be  shot  any  day  to  get  such  a  nurse." 

Jeannette  saw  the  angry  flush  on  Ann's  face,  and 
hastily  turned  the  conversation  into  less  personal 
channels. 

Thus  every  influence  swept  her  towards  a  dislike 
of  the  wounded  man's  very  name,  and  thereafter  she 
ignored  his  presence  in  the  house — his  being  in  the 
world — as  though  he  did  not  exist.  She  neither  asked 
after  his  health  nor  replied  to  any  report  or  question 
made  by  her  brother  concerning  him. 

Louis  brought  to  Raymond  one  day  a  small,  limp 
book  in  red  leather,  which  he  proffered  with  the  air 
of  giving  a  gem. 


The    New    Life 

" What's  this?"  asked  Raymond.     "Your  diary?" 

"No;  my  father's.  He  was  out  here  before  I  was 
born — when  the  Indians  were  here." 

Raymond  opened  the  volume  with  languid  interest, 
but  soon  realized  that  he  was  looking  into  the  past 
through  the  eyes  of  a  poet.  Part  of  it  was  written  in 
ink,  very  legibly,  but  in  a  fine,  running  hand,  while 
other  of  the  pages  were  hastily  scribbled  in  pencil, 
and  not  to  be  easily  deciphered.  Plainly  the  record 
had  been  made  under  great  disadvantages  and  in  the 
field.  The  inks  were  of  various  colors,  some  watery 
blue,  some  dusty  black. 

"Can  you  read  this?"  asked  the  rancher. 

"Every  word  of  it,"  the  boy  proudly  answered. 

"Decipher  this  for  me — this  one  in  pencil." 

Louis  took  the  book  and  read,  reverently:  "'I  am 
sitting  on  a  stone  beside  an  overturned  coach  at  the 
foot  of  Gooseneck  Hill.  Happily  our  coach  is  upright. 
Accidents  do  happen,  it  seems.  Wonderful  to  say,  no 
one  was  killed — not  even  the  driver,  who  was  responsi 
ble  for  the  accident.  He  lost  control  of  his  team  some 
way.  We  could  see  it  all  from  the  opposite  side  of  the 
valley.  It  was  tremendously  exciting  to  watch  them 
sweeping  down  the  trail  like  a  bead  on  a  wire.  It 
made  me  think  of  De  Quincey.  Our  driver  has  hardly 
spoken  a  word  since.  We've  all  been  busy  getting  the 
people  out  of  the  coach  and  disentangling  the  team."1 

"That  must  have  been  the  hill  coming  down  to  Clear 
Creek,"  remarked  Raymond.  "Go  on." 

"  It  ends  right  there,"  said  Louis,  regretfully.  "  He 
got  on  the  coach  and  didn't  have  time  to  write  again 
till  he  reached  Midgely's  Ranch."  He  resumed  read 
ing.  "'At  first  sight  I  was  deeply  impressed  and  a 

99 


Hesper 

little  alarmed  by  the  rough  dress  and  heavy  arms  of 
the  men  at  this  "  half-way  house."  The  walls  were  fes 
tooned  with  glittering  new  revolvers;  but  on  closer  in 
spection  I  discovered  that  most  of  these  men  were  as 
harmless  and  as  timid  as  myself.  But  there  was  some 
thing  wildly  grand  in  arriving  as  we  did  in  the  biting 
dusk  at  this  lonely  ranch,  with  its  barking  dogs,  its  big 
sheds  swarming  with  horses.  As  I  write  here  by  the 
great  open  hearth,  the  roar  of  an  icy,  swift  mountain 
stream  mingles  with  the  voice  of  the  fire.  There  is 
something  gloriously  primeval  in  it  all.  I  feel  as 
though  I  were  about  to  enter  upon  the  actualities  of  a 
great  American  epic.  I  wish  I  had  the  power  to  ex 
press  this  scene  in  verse.' ' 

The  boy  stopped,  this  time  from  emotion.  "I  wish 
I  could  find  that  place.  Do  you  suppose  we  could?" 

"Yes;  but  it  wouldn't  be  the  same.  The  valley  is 
full  of  cattle  now,  the  trees  are  all  cut  down — irrigating 
ditches  everywhere.  The  glory  has  gone,  boy.  Stick 
to  the  little  red  book.  Have  you  any  idea  how  your 
father  looked  at  that  time?" 

Louis  glowed  again.  "  See  here!"  He  extended  the 
book  again,  opened  at  the  front,  wherein  the  picture  of 
a  slender,  smiling,  handsome  young  fellow  in  sombrero 
and  hunting-clothes  had  been  pasted. 

"  He  enjoyed  his  new  hat,  didn't  he?"  said  Raymond, 
to  whom  the  essential  incongruity  of  the  refined  face 
and  border-ruffian  toggery  first  appealed.  "You're 
the  image  of  your  father,"  he  added,  looking  keenly  at 
the  boy.  "  He  don't  look  much  older  in  this  picture — 
taken  at  Sylvanite.  Well,  Sylvanite  was  a  wild  town 
in  those  days.  Is  there  much  about  it  in  the  book?" 

"Ten  pages.  He  wrote  a  page  of  fine  script  every 
100 


The    New    Life 

day;  but  I  don't  care -so  much  for  that — these  stage- 
rides,  and  the  big  canons;  and  crossing  the- 'rivers,  and 
the  Indians  —  he  saw 'lots  of  Indians  —  the  Utes — 
these  are  what  interest  me." 

Raymond  became  profoundly  interested  in  this  book. 
Without  conscious  literary  taste  himself,  he  was  able 
to  perceive  the  unusual  power  with  which  the  young 
traveller  marshalled  words.  He  read  on,  absorbed  by 
the  passion  and  purity  of  the  young  man's  spirit.  It 
was  unaccountable  that  he  should  have  this  love  and 
longing  for  the  wilderness.  What  sort  of  a  man  was 
he?  It  was  plain  that  Louis,  and  not  Ann,  had  re 
ceived  the  father's  inheritance  of  romantic  love  for 
the  untracked  spaces. 

There  was  an  appeal  in  the  closing  entry  of  this  jour' 
nal  which  touched  Raymond  profoundly,  for  his  love 
of  the  high  country  and  its  sunshine  and  starshine, 
though  less  poetic  in  expression,  was  deeper  in  the 
grain.  The  entry  was  headed  "The  Last  View." 
can  still  see  the  purple  peaks  lording  over  the  plain. 
The  portals  of  the  West  are  closing  behind  me.  In  an 
hour  my  mountains  of  Hesper  will  have  sunk  beneath 
the  plains.  I  love  my  home  and  my  friends  in  the 
East,  but  this  primeval  world  has  laid  its  spell  upon 
me.  I  shall  come  again  next  year." 

"Did  he  come  again?"  asked  Raymond  of  the  boy. 

"No,"  answered  Louis,  sadly.  And  it  was  soon 
evident  to  Raymond  that  the  lad  knew  very  little  of 
his  father  beyond  the  message  in  the  worn  little  book. 

"  Leave  this  with  me,  Louis.  I  want  to  read  it  all," 
he  said,  and  the  boy  was  glad  of  this  interest. 

Mrs.  Barnett  came  in  later  and  asked,  "What  are 

you  reading?" 

101 


Hesper 

"It  is  a  journal  kept 'by  Louis'  father  Did  you 
know  him?"--  .  .  " -  .  -  • 

"Oh,  very  well.     He  wats  my  favorite  uncle." 
"Tell  me  of  him.     Who  was  he — how  did  he  come 
to  make  this  trip?" 

Mrs.  Barnett  took  a  comfortable  seat.  "  I  don't  know 
where  Uncle  Phil  got  his  streak  of  sentiment.  He  was 
one  of  six  brothers,  all  successful  business-men;  keen, 
practical — you  know  the  kind.  But  Phil—  Well,  he 
was  the  odd  sheep  —  he  always  seemed  a  boy  to  me. 
He  worked  in  the  bank,  but  his  mind  was  on  other 
things.  I  don't  remember  how  they  came  to  send  him 
out  here,  but  I  can  recall  perfectly  the  effect  he  had 
on  me  when  talking  of  his  trip.  He  glorified  this 
country.  He  saw  the  mountains  as  the  old-time  land- 
scapists  pictured  them.  When  I  first  came  I  wept 
with  disappointment,  the  range  seemed  so  prosaic  by 
contrast.  He  talked  of  nothing  else  for  a  year.  Then 
he  married,  and  gradually  ceased  referring  to  his  ex 
periences." 

"He  never  came  again,  Louis  tells  me." 
"  No.  His  wife  was  not  the  kind  of  girl  to  go  West. 
I  don't  want  to  say  anything  severe  about  Alicia,  but 
she  made  Phil  very  unhappy.  When  Ann  was  born, 
Phil  wanted  to  call  her  Hesper — in  memory  of  his  trip 
to  the  West — but  Alicia  cried  out  against  it.  It  was 
an  odd  name,  but  it  was  pretty,  and  there  was  no 
reason  why  the  father  shouldn't  have  had  his  wish; 
but  that  was  her  way.  She  was  cold  and  selfish  even 
in  her  honeymoon.  I  never  saw  such  a  girl.  Phil  went 
with  her  to  every  fashionable  resort  in  Europe,  but  she 
not  merely  refused  to  make  a  trip  into  his  Hesperean 
Mountains,  but  she  wouldn't  let  him  go.  He  used  to 

102 


The    New    Life 

get  up  into  the  Adirondacks  now  and  then,  I  remem 
ber,  but  only  for  a  day  or  two.  Oh,  how  exacting  she 
was!  After  Louis  was  born  she  grew  worse.  She  be 
came  morbid.  I  never  could  see  that  she  had  a  par 
ticle  of  maternal  affection.  If  Ann  isn't  like  her,  it  is 
because  Phil's  blood  is  in  her  veins.  Louis  is  exactly 
as  Phil  was,  as  I  recall  him  when  I  saw  him  first." 

"You  say  the  father  called  her  Hesper?"  pursued 
Raymond,  acutely  interested  in  all  that  concerned 
Ann. 

"  It  was  his  pet  name  for  her.  Few  people  know  it. 
I  don't  think  Louis  knows  it — for  Ann  considered  the 
name  absurd  as  she  grew  older,  and  never  refers  to  it. 
I  think  it  is  a  pretty  name— don't  you?" 

"Yes.  It  is  beautiful."  His  eyes  took  on  a  musing 
look.  "I  can  understand  how  he  felt,  for,  in  those 
days  the  Crestones  were  fabled  mountains.  All  this 
country  seemed  a  great  way  off— almost  as  remote  as 
the  place  where  the  evening-star  goes  down— I  sup 
pose  that  is  what  he  meant.  It's  all  quite  common 
place  now." 

"Not  to  Louis." 

11  That's  true.  He  sees  it  as  a  boy  sees  the  world,  and 
then  he's  read  this  little  book  till  his  father's  thought 
adds  the  glory  of  the  past  to  it.  I  suppose  his  sister 
takes  her  mother's  view." 

"Yes;  she's  her  mother's  daughter,"  answered  Mrs. 
Barnett,  significantly.  "I  don't  know  what  to  think 
of  the  girl.  There  are  times  when  I  love  her  dearly, 
and  then  again  she  exasperates  me  so  I  want  to  box 
her  ears." 

Hesper!  Somehow  the  name  expressed  the  poetry 
of  the  father's  conception,  and  with  little  else  to  do 

103 


Hesper 

the  wounded  man  gave  long  hours  to  recalling  and 
reliving  his  experiences  with  her  as  his  nurse. 

He  longed  with  a  great  longing  to  see  her  again,  but 
to  his  curious  shyness  had  been  added  the  humility  of 
one  who  feels  himself  unworthy  to  ask  any  favor,  and 
the  troubled  look  which  came  now  and  again  into  the 
lines  of  his  face  made  Louis  sad.  The  boy  idealized  him, 
made  of  him  a  wonderful  being,  better  worth  serving 
than  any  monarch,  and  in  this  strain  he  talked  to  Ann 
till  she  impatiently  begged  him  to  stop. 

"You  must  not  fix  upon  such  a  man  as  your  ideal, 
Louis.  What  has  he  done  that  you  should  exalt  him? 
You  don't  even  know  his  real  name." 

This  the  boy  was  compelled  to  admit.  "Of  course  I 
don't  know  much  about  him,  but  I  like  him,  all  the 
same.  I  know  he  would  make  a  brave  fight,  if  he 
were  called  upon  to  do  so.  You  can't  always  tell  why 
you  like  a  person.  He's  awfully  gentle  and  considerate 
when  you  come  to  know  him,  and  he's  a  bully  story 
teller." 

"All  that  may  be  true,  and  he  still  be  unworthy 
your  adoration.  You  must  remember,  laddie,  that 
your  passion  for  the  wild  West  is  of  recent  develop 
ment.  You  may  change.  Father  returned  from  his 
trip  and  settled  down,  you  remember,  and  never  went 
back." 

"Yes,  but  he  didn't  forget.  He  was  always  talking 
about  it,  and  you  can  tell  what  it  meant  to  him  by 
what  he  wrote.  If  I  had  known  about  his  journal 
earlier,  I  would  have  been  out  here  before  this.  I 
didn't  like  England,  I  didn't  care  for  Europe.  I  do 
love  this,  and  I  don't  see  why  you  can't  leave  me  here 
and  go  back,"  he  ended,  at  the  brink  of  tears. 

104 


The    New    Life 

"Now,  now,  what  are  you  complaining  about?"  she 
asked,  with  sharp  inflection.  "  I  haven't  asked  you  to 
go  home.  I  was  only  trying  to  correct  your  absurd 
estimate  of  Mr.  Raymond." 

"You  needn't  bother,"  he  cried  out,  hurt  and  sad 
dened.  "I  can  take  care  of  myself." 

In  her  secret  heart  Ann  admitted  that  she,  too,  had 
been  touched  by  the  indefinable  charm  of  Raymond's 
voice  and  manner;*  but  the  question  of  how  best  to 
check  his  growing  power  over  her  brother's  life  had  be 
come  a  very  serious  problem,  for  as  the  days  wore  on 
he  put  her  aside  as  completely  as  she  ignored  his  hero. 
Together  Raymond  and  the  boy  read  the  little  red 
book,  mapping  the  points  described  as  best  they  could — 
a  task  of  some  difficulty,  for  the  traveller  had  pur 
posely  given  mythical  names  to  the  towns,  rivers,  and 
peaks.  It  had  all  been  a  wonderland  to  Philip  Rupert, 
and  he  took  care  to  have  no  stupid  or  vulgar  name 
mar  the  perfect  effect. 

There  was  something  in  all  this  which  refined  and 
softened  the  young  rancher.  Joined  with  his  love  for 
"  Hesper  "  (as  he  loved  to  call  Ann  in  secret),  this  boy 
ish  father's  enthusiasms  transmuted  every  reckless, 
bitter  impulse  into  stern  resolutions  to  enter  upon  a 
new  life  —  a  life  with  purpose  and  devotion  in  its 
course. 

Everything  conspired  to  make  Ann  alluring.  The 
rough  walls  of  the  ranch-house  had  been  a  foil  for  her 
exquisite  color,  her  daintiness,  her  calm  beauty.  Then, 
through  the  long  night,  as  she  softened,  growing  wan 
and  sorrowful  over  him,  he  had  watched  her,  absorb 
ing  every  detail  of  her  presence ;  even  in  his  pain  and 
while  facing  death  he  had  taken  account  of  the  sweet 

105 


Hesper 

line  of  her  quivering  lips,  her  graceful  hands,  so  soft 
and  strong,  and  of  her  deep,  serious  eyes.  She  had 
come  to  stand  for  something  more  than  a  woman  to 
him.  She  was  clothed  in  light  by  his  gratitude  and  his 
passionate,  adoring  love. 


VIII 
Raymond    Vanishes 

A^  last  there  came  a  day  when  the  doctor  permitted 
his  patient  to  be  clothed  and  seated  in  an  easy- 
chair,   and,    calling   Mrs.    Barnett   to   him,   Raymond 
asked,  "Do  you  think  Miss  Rupert  will  see  me  now?" 

"I  will  ask  her,"  replied  Jeannette,  with  due  appre 
ciation  of  the  romantic  situation. 

Ann  rose  to  comply,  with  a  little  thrill  of  unpleasant 
excitement.  She  did  not  want  to  see  him,  and  yet  she 
could  not  decently  refuse. 

At  the  door  of  the  sitting-room  Mrs.  Barnett  stopped, 
and  the  girl  walked  in  alone,  her  face  set  in  lines  of  cold 
disdain. 

Raymond  sat  in  a  big,  padded  chair,  with  his  back  to 
the  window  and  the  sunlight  streaming  over  his  head. 
He  wore  a  handsome,  gray  dressing-gown,  and  the  linen 
at  his  neck  and  wrists  was  spotlessly  clean.  His 
hands  were  refined — almost  delicate  in  effect,  and  his 
clean-shaven  face  and  his  well-brushed,  abundant  brown 
hair  gave  evidence  of  a  most  careful  toilet.  Some 
thing  mystically  solemn  and  sweet  was  in  his  eyes,  and 
his  lips  trembled  as  he  greeted  her.  "This  is  very 
good  of  you.  Pardon  me,  won't  you?  I  am  forbidden 
to  stand." 

"I  beg  you,  do  not  think  of  it." 
107 


Hesper 

"Dare  I  ask  you  to  be  seated?  I  want  to  thank  you 
more  suitably  than  I  have  been  able  to  do  for  what  you 
did  for  me." 

''Please  don't,  Mr.  Raymond.  I  assure  you  I  de 
serve  no  credit.  I  went  out  there  under  compulsion, 
and  what  I  did  was  determined  by  pressure  of  circum 
stances.  I'm  not  a  bit  of  a  heroine,  and  I  do  not  like 
praise." 

He  was  chilled  by  her  tone,  and  for  a  moment  hesi 
tated.  "A  sick  man  may  be  forgiven  some  things,"  he 
began  to  say  at  last.  "I  may  as  well  confess  that  I 
have  been  longing  to  see  you.  I  have  been  trying  for 
many  days  to  rise  and  dress,  in  order  that  I  might  have 
you  come  in.  You  must  let  me  ask  your  forgiveness 
for  the  rude  way  in  which  I  received  you  that  day. 
All  that  I  did  seems  incredible  to  me  now — like  the 
action  of  another  man." 

A  gleam  of  amusement  crossed  Ann's  face.  "I 
didn't  blame  you.  I'm  willing  to  admit  that  your  po 
sition  was  trying." 

He  was  too  exalted  of  mood  to  respond  to  her  quiz 
zical  tone.  "I  had  lived  for  years  quite  apart  from 
any — from  association  with  cultivated  people,  and,  be 
sides,  I  had  begun  to  feel  that  I  was  wasting  my  life, 
and  had  become  irritable.  I  went  to  the  ranch  to 
pay  off  a  debt,  and  I — well,  I  had  fallen  into  a  groove. 
You  recalled  me  to  better  things." 

"I  and  the  bullet,"  she  said,  rather  flippantly,  for 
she  was  becoming  apprehensive  of  the  trend  of  his  con 
fidences. 

He  ignored  her  interruption,  or,  rather,  he  ploughed 
across  it  with  something  like  his  old-time  resolution. 
"  It  is  due  to  you  to  know — or,  at  any  rate,  I  desire  you 

108 


Raymond    Vanishes 

to  know,  that  I  am  not  a  fugitive  from  justice.  Bakef 
thought  he  was  being  funny." 

''I  am  not  so  dull  as  you  think,  Mr.  Raymond.  I 
understood  him  perfectly." 

"  I  am  glad  you  did.  It  is  true  I  am  estranged  from 
my  family,  but  it  is  not  due —  My  faults  have  never 
been  criminal." 

"Please  do  not  feel  it  necessary  to  explain,"  inter 
rupted  Ann.  "It  is  painful  to  you,  and  —  and  it  is 
wholly  unnecessary.  I  beg  you  to  desist.  I  hope  you 
will  understand  that  I  am  in  no  sense  doubting  you." 

A  shadow  of  pain  crossed  his  face.  Somehow  the 
reality  of  their  meeting  was  not  as  he  had  imagined  it. 

She,  on  her  part,  was  angry  and  displeased  with  her 
self,  and  resentful  of  his  implied  social  equality,  and  yet 
he  looked  the  gentleman,  and  his  face  was  very  hand 
some,  very  moving  in  its  clear  pallor;  suffering  had  in 
finitely  refined  its  lines,  but  she  could  not  forget  his 
services  as  cook  and  cow-boy,  and,  besides,  she  hated 
being  perturbed.  She  resolutely  changed  the  subject. 

"Dr.  Braide  says  you  are  getting  on  splendidly,  and 
that  you  will  soon  be  returning  to  the  ranch." 

Checked  and  chilled  by  her  manner,  he  plainly  aban 
doned  all  further  thought  of  confiding  in  her  and  an 
swered,  wearily  and  sadly,  "It  will  be  a  long  time  be 
fore  I  return  to  the  life  on  the  ranch.  I  have  other 
plans  now." 

Ann  half  regretted  her  action,  and,  as  she  rose,  said, 
with  a  smiling  assumption  of  easy,  friendly  interest, 
which  hurt  him  worse  than  anything  she  had  hitherto 
spoken,  "  I  think  it  wonderful,  the  way  you  are  coming 
on.  We  will  see  you  at  dinner  in  a  few  days." 

"Thank  you.  I  shall  be  down  at  the  earliest  mo- 

109 


Hesper 

ment,"  he  quietly  replied,  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair, 
white  and  suffering,  his  eyes  closed,  his  lips  quivering. 

Ann  was  well  aware  that  she  had  not  lived  up  to  her 
higher  self  in  this  interview,  and  that  she  had  been 
cruelly  unresponsive  and  distant  with  him.  "And  yet  I 
don't  see  how  I  could  have  acted  differently,"  she  argued 
with  her  better  self.  "  He  must  not  go  on  thinking  me 
more  deeply  interested  in  his  life  than  I  really  am.  He 
must  be  taught  that  a  mere  accidental  meeting,  such 
as  ours  has  been,  is  not  the  working-out  of  fate — at 
least,  not  with  me.  It  is  better  for  him  to  suffer  a  lit 
tle  now  than  a  great  deal  further  on." 

Mrs.  Barnett  was  impatiently  waiting  for  her  return. 

"What  did  he  say?"  she  breathlessly  asked.  "I'm 
dying  to  know." 

Ann  answered  with  evasive  indifference.  "He 
thanked  me  again  for  my  heroic  action,  and  begged 
pardon  for  his  rudeness;  all  of  which  he  might  have 
spared  himself  the  trouble  of  repeating." 

Mrs.  Barnett  was  on  the  scent  for  romance.  "What 
else?" 

"Nothing  else." 

"Poor  fellow!  He  has  been  struggling  towards  this 
event  for  days.  Only  the  doctor's  express  orders  kept 
him  from  getting  up  ten  days  ago.  He  has  been  all  the 
morning  dressing  for  it,  and  now  you  tell  me,  in  that 
supercilious  tone,  that  nothing  happened." 

Ann  fired  into  anger.  "What  could  happen?  You 
needn't  speak  in  riddles,  Jeannette  Ward.  What  do 
you  think  should  have  happened  —  come,  now,  you 
silly,  romantic  thing?" 

Mrs.  Barnett  became  evasive  in  her  turn.  "  He 
might  have  told  you  the  story  of  his  life." 

no 


Raymond    Vanishes 

''Why  should  he  do  that,  and  why  should  I  listen  to 
it?"  Ann  replied,  with  more  of  heat  and  bitterness  than 
the  case  seemed  to  demand.  "I  am  not  his  father- 
confessor.  I  always  knew  you  were  absurdly  romantic, 
but  this  is  beyond  anything.  I  warn  you,  if  you  go 
any  further  in  this  direction,  we  shall  fight." 

Some  note  in  her  voice  touched  Mrs.  Barnett,  and 
she  slowly  replied:  "Ann  Rupert,  you  are  the  coldest, 
cruelest  creature  I  ever  knew.  I  know  what  you  did  to 
that  poor  fellow — you  unmercifully  snubbed  him — you 
froze  his  gratitude  on  his  lips.  Of  course,  you  are  in 
finitely  his  superior" — she  became  weakly  sarcastic  at 
this  point — "but  you  are  not  justified  in  stabbing  a 
sick  man  to  the  heart." 

"You're  quite  mistaken.     I  was  very  nice  to  him." 

"Nice!  I've  seen  you  nice  to  young  men  before. 
Oh,  I'd  like  to  see  some  man  crush  you!  I'd  enjoy 
seeing  you  crawl!" 

Ann,  quite  restored  to  good-humor,  smiled,  and  the 
gleam  of  her  beautiful  teeth  brought  back  her  girlish 
charm.  "  I  like  your  kind  heart,  Jeannette.  Anger  is 
becoming  to  you,"  and  she  took  up  a  book  and  re 
tired  to  her  favorite  chair. 

Mrs.  Barnett  went  immediately  to  Raymond's  door 
and  knocked.  At  his  word  she  entered.  He  sat  where 
Ann  had  left  him,  but  Louis  was  beside  him,  showing 
him  a  new  drawing. 

"Isn't  that  wonderful!"  said  Raymond,  holding  the 
sketch  in  the  air,  his  eyes  aglow  with  pride  in  the 
boy.  "If  I  could  do  that  I  would  never  be  lonesome 
or  restless.  I  wish  I  knew  my  use  in  the  world  as  cer 
tainly  as  Louis  does." 

The  young  artist  flushed  with  the  pleasure.  "It's 
in 


Hesper 

just  as  wonderful  to  ride  the  way  you  do — and  throw 
a  rope — and  all  that.  I'll  teach  you  to  draw  if  you 
want  me  to." 

Raymond  turned  to  Mrs.  Barnett  with  a  look  in 
which  amusement  and  a  certain  sorrow  met.  "I'm 
long  past  such  instruction,  lad.  I  haven't  sense  enough 
to  keep  out  of  mischief.  You  draw  and  I'll  do  the 
posing.  I'm  a  good  poser;  don't  you  think  so,  Mrs. 
Barnett?" 

''I  don't  know  what  you  mean?"  said  she,  feeling 
vaguely  his  pain  and  discouragement — his  disillusion 
ment. 

"I  posed  as  a  farmer  and  deceived  good  Don  Bar 
nett.  I  made  up  for  a  cow-boy  and  fooled  Baker  and 
the  rest  of  the  squad.  And  now  I'm  posing  as  an  in 
valid  when  I  ought  to  be  out  on  the  ranch  again.  It's 
time  I  rode  away  to  a  new  range." 

Mrs.  Barnett  was  alarmed  at  the  undertone  of  bitter 
ness  in  his  words.  "  You  must  not  think  of  even  walk 
ing  down-stairs  for  a  week." 

"  But  I  can't  sit  here  and  sink  deeper  and  deeper  into 
obligation  to  you,"  he  answered.  "  What  rights  have  I 
in  this  room?  I'm  only  a  poor,  wandering  ne'er-do- 
well,  and  your  beautiful  home  makes  me  ashamed — 
more  than  ashamed — it  fills  me  with  a  sense  of  guilt. 
I  can  walk  now,  and  I  ought  not  stay  another 
day." 

Mrs.  Barnett  knew  very  well  that  his  mood  was  due 
to  Ann's  icy  disdain,  and  she  realized,  too,  how  difficult 
the  task  of  diverting  his  mind  from  this  foolish  purpose 
would  be.  She  said,  gently:  "You  were  injured  in  our 
service,  Robert,  and  it  is  our  duty  to  look  after  you. 
You  must  not  utter  another  word  of  this  sort  of  talk  to 

112 


Raymond    Vanishes 

me,  or  I  will  call  Don,  and  then  you  will  hear  a  voice 
that  will  make  you  quake." 

He  smiled.  "Men  don't  make  me  quake,  but  girls 
have  always  scared  me  blue,  I  admit  it."  He  returned 
to  his  original  thought.  "  But  I've  been  such  a  burden 
to  you  all  these  days,  that  troubles  me.  Your  kind 
ness  has  been  out  of  all  proportion  to  my  deserving." 

"There's  only  one  way  in  which  to  repay  our  kind 
ness." 

"How  is  that?" 

"  By  keeping  in  a  heavenly  temper,  and  getting  well 
and  strong.  I  tell  you,  frankly,  I  will  not  listen  to  your 
walking  out  of  this  room  for  a  week." 

Louis,  who  had  been  sitting  in  some  wonder,  trying 
to  catch  the  undercurrent  of  this  talk,  put  his  hand  on 
Raymond's  knee  and  said,  "When  you  go,  I  go,  too; 
remember  that." 

Raymond,  looking  down  into  the  boy's  admiring, 
shining  face,  slowly  replied:  "I  can't  promise  that, 
Louis.  I've  cut  loose  from  the  old  life.  What  my 
new  life  will  be  I  can't  tell.  It's  all  uncertainty  now." 

"There's  time  to  settle  all  that,"  said  Mrs.  Barnett, 
decisively,  "after  you  are  able  to  walk.  For  the  pres 
ent  you  are  our  guest,  or,  if  not  that,  our  prisoner,  and 
I  appoint  Louis  turnkey." 

"Hah!"  cried  Louis,  melodramatically.  "The  boy 
turnkey  is  on  your  trail;  escape  if  you  can!" 

Mrs.  Barnett  left  the  room  while  yet  it  echoed  to 
their  laughter.  "He's  too  good  for  Ann  Rupert,  and 
that's  the  truth,"  she  said  to  her  husband.  "He's  a 
splendid  fellow.  I  don't  care  what  his  mystery  is." 

It  was  interesting  to  Jeannette  to  observe  that  even* 
8  113 


Hesper 

ing-dress  changed  Ann's  estimate  of  Raymond's  char 
acter.  He  was  not  a  boor,  that  the  girl  already  knew; 
but  she  was  conventional  enough  to  welcome  a  chance 
to  see  this  unaccountable  ranchman  in  the  garb  of  po 
lite  society.  She  had  to  admit  that  he  looked  surpris 
ingly  well  as  he  came  slowly  into  the  library  just  before 
the  little  Chinese  chime  sounded  for  dinner.  Every 
trace  of  the  cow-boy,  the  man  of  sun-smit,  wind-swept 
plain,  was  gone.  He  was  pale,  languid,  but  self-con 
tained,  and  wore  his  dinner-suit  with  easy  grace. 

Mrs.  Barnett  ran  to  him  with  outstretched  hands. 
"Why,  Mr.  Raymond,  are  you  sure  the  doctor  will 
sanction  this?  Please  don't  stand  —  take  a  chair. 
Does  Don  know  of  this?" 

"Oh  yes.  He  sent  me  on  ahead  in  order  to  sur 
prise  you." 

"You  certainly  have  succeeded  in  doing  that.  I'm 
so  glad  to  have  you  down,  only  you  must  not  overdo 
it.  Isn't  he  looking  well,  Ann?" 

His  manner  towards  Ann  was  that  of  a  polite  ac 
quaintance  merely,  and  her  fear  of  something  —  she 
hardly  knew  what — instantly  vanished.  Her  imagina 
tion  was  stirred  by  the  vivid  contrast  between  the  fig 
ure  he  now  made  and  the  lithe,  sullen,  booted  and 
spurred  rancher  cooking  that  rank  and  odorous  supper. 
"He  plays  the  part  well,"  she  thought.  "I  wonder 
who  and  what  he  really  is."  And  she  half  wished  at 
the  moment  that  she  had  permitted  him  to  confide  to 
her  his  life's  history. 

His  bearing  during  dinner  and  throughout  the  even 
ing  made  her  forget  the  kind  of  person  he  had  hitherto 
seemed  to  her,  and  she  began  to  study  him  in  his  true 
character.  He  dropped  all  his  ranch-life  phrases,  and, 

114 


Raymond    Vanishes 

putting  aside  his  reserve,  talked  with  entire  intellectual 
freedom,  showing  a  knowledge  of  books  and  of  com 
munities  remarkable  in  any  man.  He  assumed  noth 
ing,  but  grew  frank  and  gay  almost  to  boyishness, 
and  his  eyes,  when  they  met  hers,  were  as  politely 
deferential  and  as  distantly  admiring  as  those  of  the 
college  professor  who  sat  opposite.  Once  or  twice,  as 
she  encountered  his  glance,  a  mysterious  movement 
ran  about  her  heart,  and  her  breath  quickened. 

As  they  rose  from  dinner,  and  while  he  stood  to  allow 
her  to  pass,  he  said:  "You  are  very  beautiful  to-night. 
Mountain  air  has  done  wonders  for  you." 

"You  are  very  courteous,"  she  responded,  and  her 
eyes  fell,  exasperatingly,  and  she  walked  away  with  a 
sense  of  having  revealed  a  weakness. 

He  came  into  the  drawing-room  half  an  hour  later  to 
say  good-night  to  his  hostess,  looking  very  tired  and 
pale,  and  when  he  took  Ann's  hand  his  eyes  were  burn 
ing  with  deep,  inner  passion.  "Good-night,"  he  said, 
"and  forgive  me  for  any  impertinence."  She  scarcely 
had  time  to  reply,  to  ask  his  meaning,  for  Mrs.  Barnett 
ordered  him  instantly  to  bed. 

No  sooner  was  he  safely  out  of  hearing  than  the  la 
dies  began  to  discuss  him,  and  turned  to  Ann  in  the 
hope  that  she  would  recount  the  story  of  her  eventful 
night  on  the  ranch,  but  Ann  shrugged  her  shoulders, 
and  a  perceptible  frown  gathered  on  her  brow.  "Oh, 
please  don't  ask  me  to  go  over  that  dreadful  experience 
again,"  she  protested,  and  her  displeasure  was  too  genu 
ine  to  be  mistaken. 

With  instant  good-will  the  guests  fell  upon  a  discus 
sion  of  the  merits  of  the  new  Hungarian  band  which 
had  but  recently  been  engaged  for  the  Casino,  while 


Hesper 

Ann  sat  in  silence,  a  perplexed  abstraction  in  her 
eyes. 

Louis  became  restless  as  soon  as  Raymond  left  the 
dining-room — the  talk  of  the  men  did  not  interest  him — 
and  after  a  few  minutes  slipped  out  and,  mounting 
the  stairs,  knocked  timidly  at  Rob's  door.  He  was 
on  the  point  of  turning  away  when  Raymond  called, 
"Come!"  As  Louis  entered,  the  young  rancher  looked 
tip  from  his  writing  absent-mindedly.  "  Hullo,  artist !" 
he  said,  with  an  effort  at  his  usual  camaraderie.  "  Have 
you  finished  your  cigar?" 

Louis,  almost  as  embarrassed  as  a  girl,  twisted  on 
his  heel.  There  was  no  reason  for  his  visit,  except  that 
he  would  rather  be  with  his  hero  than  with  his  cousin. 
Raymond,  on  his  part,  was  disturbed  by  the  boy's  com 
ing,  and  for  a  moment  an  awkwardness,  hitherto  un 
known,  silenced  them  both.  At  last  the  man  spoke. 
"Well,  laddie,  what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

Louis  searched  his  mind  for  some  excuse.  "Can't 
you  go  riding  with  me  to-morrow.  I  want  to  be  the 
first  one  to  go  out  with  you." 

"I  don't  believe  I'll  be  able  to  ride  for  some  time. 
I  have  a  notion  that  I'll  walk  a  good  while  before 
I  ride.  I  feel  pretty  tired  just  from  climbing  the 
stairs." 

"Well,  then,  let's  take  a  walk  to-morrow  morning." 

"We'll  see  what  the  doctor  says.  Good-night,"  Ray 
mond  replied,  and  Louis  went  reluctantly  away,  prom 
ising  to  call  him  at  seven. 

No  voice  responded  to  his  knock  next  morning,  and, 
hurrying  to  Barnett's  room,  Louis  called,  excitedly, 
"Cousin  Don,  have  you  seen  Rob?" 

116 


Raymond   Vanishes 

Barnett,  splashing  in  his  tub,  shouted,  "No;  can't 
you  find  him?" 

"He  isn't  in  his  room." 

"He's  gone  down  to  breakfast,  then.  Hurry  along 
and  keep  him  company.  Don't  let  him  go  out." 

Louis  rushed  into  the  breakfast -room,  but  found  it 
empty.  The  maid  said:  "Are  you  looking  for  Mr. 
Raymond  ?  He  came  down  very  early  and  said  he  was 
going  out  for  a  walk." 

The  boy  hurried  out-doors,  filled  with  dismay.  "  He 
shouldn't  be  out  alone.  He  might  get  dizzy  and  fall." 
He  ran  round  the  block,  eagerly  seeking  Raymond,  who 
was  nowhere  in  sight.  When  Barnett  entered  Rob's 
room  he  found  three  letters  lying  on  the  little  desk. 
One  was  addressed  to  Don,  one  to  Ann,  and  one  to 
"Turnkey  Louis." 

Barnett  broke  the  seal  and  read  his  note  almost  at  a 
glance. 

"DEAR  BARNETT, — I'm  sorry  to  pull  out  in  this  way, 
but  I  am  afraid  it's  my  only  way.  I  have  been  very  un 
comfortable  because  of  my  growing  indebtedness  to  you 
and  Mrs.  Barnett,  and  so  I  have  cut  loose.  Please  don't 
think  me  ungrateful,  It  is  because  I  feel  so  deeply  your 
kindness  that  I  go.  Don't  look  for  me.  I'm  going  to 
hole-up  for  a  few  days  till  I  get  strong.  If  you  happen  to 
get  any  clew  to  where  I've  gone,  don't  tell  the  boy.  I 
can  see  that  his  sister  does  not  approve  of  his  fondness  for 
me,  and  she  is  quite  right.  I'm  not  a  proper  companion 
for  a  boy  of  his  sort.  I  enclose  a  check,  which  squares 
us  so  far  as  money  can,  but  your  kindness  in  other  ways, 
and  especially  Mrs.  Barnett's  care  and  assistance,  I  am 
in  despair  of  ever  paying.  I  slide  out  because  it  would  be 
difficult  and  painfuf  to  say  good-bye,  and,  besides,  I  feel 
that  I  must  cut  loose  from  the  boy." 

117 


Hesper 

Raymond's  note  to  Ann  was  short,  almost  curt: 

"Since  my  thanks  are  a  burden  to  you,  the  least  I  can 
do  is  to  take  myself  out  of  your  life  and  beg  pardon  for 
having  entered  it.  Had  I  attended  to  my  duties  that 
night  of  the  fire,  you  would  not  have  been  troubled  by 
me.  I  stayed  because  you  were  beautiful,  and  that  is  the 
whole  truth.  It  is  not  the  first  time  a  man  has  neglected 
his  duties  for  a  woman,  and  the  pain  I  now  suffer  in  giving 
up  all  hope  of  meeting  you  again  is  a  just  punishment  for 
my  presumption.  I  am  sorry  to  go  without  saying  good 
bye  to  Louis,  but  it  is  best.  I  know  you  do  not  like  his 
growing  regard  for  me,  and  you  are  quite  right." 

Ann's  first  feeling  was  one  of  resentment.  "He  is 
putting  me  in  the  wrong."  Then  came  a  distinct  sense 
of  guilt.  As  she  recalled  his  words  and  glances  of  the 
night  before,  she  was  able  to  interpret  what  had  puz 
zled  her.  Had  she  made  life  intolerable  for  him?  For 
a  moment  she  suffered  with  a  sense  of  having  driven 
him  into  danger,  and  returned  to  the  letter.  No,  it  was 
too  firm,  too  decided,  to  even  remotely  suggest  a  flee 
ing  from  life. 

Louis  came  to  her  door  and  cried  out,  dolefully, 
"Ann,  Rob  has  gone  away." 

"I  know  it.     Come  in." 

He  entered  with  troubled,  tearful  face,  and,  in  deeply 
aggrieved  tone,  said:  "He  went  without  saying  good 
bye.  I  want  to  go  hunt  him  and  bring  him  back,  but 
Uncle  Don  says  that  we  must  respect  his  wish.  All  the 
same,  I  like  him,  and  I  want  him  back.  No,  I  don't — I 
want  to  go  with  him." 

"And  leave  me?" 

His  resentment,  long  smouldering,  burst  forth:  "Yes, 
1x8 


Raymond   Vanishes 

I  would!  Don't  you  suppose  I  have  seen  how  you 
treated  him?  You  think  because  you're  from  New 
York  you  can  snub  a  man  like  Rob;  but  you're  not 
up  to  him — you're  not  half  as  good  as  he  is.  I'm  going 
away,  and  I'm  never  coming  back.  You're  a  hateful, 
miserable  thing.  You  don't  do  anything  but  look 
down  on  people."  He  stamped  his  foot.  "I  despise 
you.  I  don't  care  if  you  are  my  sister.  I  wish  the 
devil  would  get  you." 

Ann  listened  in  astonishment  to  this  outburst  from 
her  brother,  and  then  cuttingly  remarked: 

"  One  would  think  I  had  taken  away  some  plaything 
of  yours.  Go  out  of  my  room,  and  stay  out  till  you 
can  treat  me  with  respect." 

"I'm  going,  and  you'll  never  see  me  again.  I'm  go 
ing  to  follow  Rob.  I  don't  care  what  you  say."  With 
this  defiant  cry  he  rushed  from  the  room. 

Ann  remained  seated  before  her  dressing-table  for  a 
long  time  in  silence.  Louis'  utterance,  while  of  a  piece 
with  his  occasional  emotional  outbreaks,  had  gone  be 
yond  all  bounds,  all  reason.  Never  before  had  his 
anger  reached  black  rage.  What  was  there  in  Ray 
mond  to  win  and  wear  such  devotion?  He  had  dis 
played  himself  not  at  all.  Since  his  wound  he  had  been 
able  to  do  little  except  to  lie  on  his  bed  and  permit 
Louis  to  read  to  him  and  prattle  of  plans  for  the  future ; 
and  yet  he  had  taken  first  place  in  the  boy's  life.  "  He 
has  turned  my  brother's  love  to  hate." 

A  keen  ache  of  jealousy  ran  through  the  proud  girl's 
heart.  The  one  soul  of  vital  interest  in  her  life — her 
sweet  little  brother — seemed  about  to  pass  from  her 
hands  to  that  of  an  adventurer.  Her  resentment  of  his 
influence  blazed  hot  within  her.  "I  will  defeat  him 

119 


Hesper 

with  his   own  weapons,"  she  said.     "I  will  win  him 
back  to  me.     I  will  go  wherever  he  wishes  to  go." 

But  Louis  did  not  return  to  lunch,  and  she  was 
greatly  troubled.  He  did  not  appear  at  dinner,  and 
at  last,  openly  alarmed,  Ann  told  Mrs.  Barnett  of  Louis' 
bitter  accusation  and  of  his  threat  that  he  would  never 
return. 

''The  man  has  bewitched  him.  He  was  fairly  beside 
himself.  Where  can  he  have  gone?" 

"Don't  worry.  Don  will  find  him.  He'll  get  tired 
of  it  and  come  back.  These  boyish  tantrums  don't 
last." 

' '  It  scares  me  to  think  of  that  poor,  innocent  lad 
spending  the  night  alone  in  a  big,  wicked  Western  city. 
I  wish  Don  would  hurry  home.  Can't  I  go  down  to 
his  office?" 

"Oh  no;  there's  no  need  of  you're  going.  I'll  tele 
phone  him  at  once." 

When  Barnett  returned,  Ann,  white  with  anxiety, 
poured  out  her  story.  He  comforted  her  by  saying, 
"You  take  it  too  seriously.  I  will  notify  the  police  at 
Cinnabar  and  Mogalyon.  They'll  locate  him  in  an 
hour." 

They  did  not  find  him,  and  Ann  passed  a  miserable 
night,  imagining  all  sorts  of  ill  adventures  into  which 
Louis  might  be  led,  and  would  have  accompanied  Bar 
nett  on  his  quest  next  day  but  for  his  firm  command: 
"Don't  be  absurd.  I  can  find  him  alone  much 
quicker." 

"  Bring  him  back,  if  you  have  to  use  force,"  she  cried. 
And  then,  with  a  knowledge  of  Raymond's  power,  she 
added,  "If  you  find  Mr.  Raymond,  please  tell  him  to 
send  laddie  home — say  I  wish  it." 

120 


Raymond    Vanishes 

With  these  words  in  his  ear  Barnett  took  his  way  to 
his  office.  At  lunch  he  was  more  concerned.  "He's 
not  in  Cinnabar,  nor  any  of  the  surrounding  towns. 
He  may  have  gone  back  to  the  ranch.  I  will  wire  out 
there  this  afternoon.  Did  he  have  any  money  ?" 

"Yes.  I  had  just  given  him  his  allowance.  He 
must  have  had  nearly  two  hundred  dollars." 

Don  whistled.  "A  smart  boy  can  hide-out  a  good 
while  on  that.  However,  he'll  come  back  when  his 
pet  wears  off." 

Even  though  Raymond  had  taken  himself  bodily  out 
of  her  life,  his  power  to  disturb  and  thwart  Ann's  will 
remained.  She  began  to  fear  him  a  little.  He  was 
bigger,  more  powerful,  than  she  had  thought  him. 
Could  she  have  found  him  in  the  days  which  followed— 
days  of  increasing  unrest  and  anxiety — she  would  have 
humbly  asked  him  to  find  the  runaway  and  bring  him 
back  to  her ;  but  he  had  disappeared  as  utterly  as  if  he 
had  never  been. 

Barnett  visited  several  of  the  neighboring  towns,  in 
cluding  Bozle,  the  great  mining  town,  but  without 
result,  and  Ann  began  to  distrust  even  her  brother,  and 
to  wonder  whether  he  and  Raymond  had  not  planned 
this  desertion  together;  and  this  thought  gave  her  a 
painful  sense  of  being  alone  and  loveless  in  the  world. 


IX 
Raymond    Enters    Sky-Town 

MEANWHILE,  during  Raymond's  days  on  the 
ranch,  while  the  cattle  were  withering  away  on 
the  plains,  and  the  long  trail  from  the  south  was  rilling 
with  grass,  a  most  notable  settlement  had  been  forming 
like  some  new  kind  of  parasitic  growth  on  the  west 
ward  shoulder  of  old  Mogalyon,  the  mighty  pea£to  the 
west.  Originally  the  hunting-ground  for  the  Utes,  this 
land,  after  their  withdrawal,  became  a  mountain  past 
ure  whereto  the  herds  from  the  rainless  lower  coun 
try  were  driven  when  the  grass  grew  scant  and  sear. 
It  was,  in  fact,  a  high  park  surrounded  by  secondary 
crests  of  the  Rampart  Range,  but  so  suave,  so  fragrant 
of  bloom,  so  velvet-soft  of  grass  were  these  genial  sum 
mits  that  the  cow-boys,  racing  across  them,  thought  of 
them  and  spoke  of  them  only  as  hills.  The  vast,  far 
away  peaks  of  the  Crestones  alone  appealed  to  them  as 
mountains. 

In  the  midst  of  these  hills,  in  the  lap  of  two  smooth, 
grassy  domes,  old  Philip  Le  Beau  established  a  cow- 
camp  in  the  early  seventies,  and  called  it  Belle  Marie, 
after  his  wife.  This,  however,  proved  to  be  too  fanci 
ful  for  his  cow-boy  neighbors,  who  promptly  called  it 
"  Le  Beau's  Hole,"  and  in  the  end  it  was  known  among 
cattle-men  as  Bozle  Creek. 

122 


Raymond    Enters    Sky-Town 

Just  west  of  Le  Beau's  Camp,  and  sentinel  to  the 
valley  of  the  Loup,  stood  a  symmetrical  peak  which 
some  missionary  to  the  red  people  had  called  Mount 
Horeb.  About  the  year  1870  some  persons  not  mis 
sionaries  planted  gold  in  the  soil  in  convenient  places 
at  the  base  of  this  hill,  and  raised  a  mighty  shout  over 
the  discovery  of  a  new  Eldorado.  A  rush  took  place, 
and  to  the  outside  world  the  region  became  known  as 
"the  Mount  Horeb  Mining  District,"  and  was  alluded 
to  with  deep-seated  resentment,  with  curses;  for  the 
sharp  practices  of  those  who  made  it  known  had  caused 
much  loss  of  time  and  money. 

But  there  were  miners  whom  neither  the  dogmatic 
opinions  of  geologists  nor  the  tricks  of  schemers  could 
turn  aside  from  a  faith  that  somewhere  on  the  mighty 
slopes  of  Mogalyon  lay  veins  of  gold,  and  these  con 
tinued  to  chip  and  to  dig  and  to  hammer,  even  while 
the  cow-boys  hallooed  behind  their  rushing  herds  and 
branded  their  calves  in  Le  Beau's  weather-beaten  corral. 
The  world  soon  forgot  Mount  Horeb  and  its  conscience 
less  swindlers,  and  the  prospectors  drifted  to  other  and 
more  promising  fields  in  other  ranges  to  the  west. 

But  Valley  Springs  was  becoming  known  as  a  pleas 
ant  health  resort,  and  the  waters  of  its  springs  were 
being  bottled  and  shipped  to  the  Eastern  cities.  Each 
year  a  larger  number  of  stricken  ones  came  to  find  res 
pite,  if  not  recovery,  in  its  gloriously  bright  sunlight 
and  pure  air.  For  years  it  remained  a  village,  and  its 
business-men  merely  shopkeepers  and  resident  ranch- 
owners,  but,  as  its  fame  spread,  families  of  wealth  and 
social  position  in  the  East  began  to  settle  along  the 
bank  of  The  Bear,  and  to  build  homes  into  which  the 
sunlight  streamed  with  healing  magic ;  and  the  men  of 

123 


Hesper 

these  families  began  to  look  about  for  business  and  for 
investment,  and  not  a  few  of  them  were  in  the  mood  to 
listen  when  rough-bearded  men  began  to  plod  down  the 
trail  from  Bozle  Creek  bringing  sacks  of  promising  ore. 

Returns  from  these  samples,  sent  away  to  be  assayed, 
started  a  flight  of  golden  eagles  east  and  west.  Again 
the  adventurous  youth,  the  skilled  prospector,  the  gam 
bler,  the  harlot,  and  all  the  uneasy  and  shifting  ele 
ments  that  follow  such  lures,  poured  into  the  valley 
and  toiled  over  the  trail  to  the  grassy  hills  of  Bozle  and 
camped  around  old  Le  Beau's  corrals  to  pick  at  the  hills 
and  to  wait  developments. 

At  first,  though  short  of  breath  by  reason  of  the 
altitude — two  full  miles  above  the  sea — some  of  these 
incomers  laughed,  and  some  were  angry.  "Gold!  In 
these  grassy  hills ?  Impossible!"  And  they  went  away 
again  with  bitter  words.  It  was  Mount  Horeb  repeated 
on  a  large  scale. 

But  the  assay ers,  the  men  of  learning,  persisted,  and 
in  their  little  mortars  brayed  the  ore,  and  in  tiny,  port 
able  furnaces  smelted  for  many  a  sturdy  miner  minute 
buttons  of  shining  metal.  The  gold  was  there,  and  at 
last  even  the  most  sceptical  believed. 

Then  the  inflow  began  in  earnest.  The  trail  was 
beaten  smooth  by  swarming  feet.  It  became  a  stage- 
road.  A  great  railroad  sent  surveyors  toiling  up  each 
of  the  deep  and  winding  canons  in  the  attempt  to  reach 
the  mighty  camp  whose  fame  was  beginning  to  shine 
throughout  the  world.  The  beautiful,  grassy  hills  were 
blotched  with  eruptions  of  red  earth.  Mounds  of  soil 
and  broken  rocks  betrayed  where  soil-stained  men  bur 
rowed  like  resolute  moles  beneath  the  sod.  The  rip 
pling,  shining  groves  of  aspen  disappeared,  shaved 

124 


Raymond    Enters    Sky-Town 

away  as  with  a  prodigious  scythe  to  provide  walls  for 
cabins,  wood  for  fires,  timber  for  windlasses,  and  stulls 
for  mines.  The  tall,  dark,  martial  -  gestured  firs  fol 
lowed,  rank  by  rank.  Paths  appeared  leading  from  bur 
row  to  burrow  like  runways  in  a  town  of  prairie-dogs. 

The  main  street  of  Bozle  was  ten  thousand  feet  above 
the  sea;  but  at  last,  on  the  top  of  Pine  Mountain,  a 
vein  of  ore  running  two  thousand  dollars  to  the  ton 
was  discovered,  and  another  town  arose — full  eleven 
thousand  feet  above  sea-level — the  highest  town  in  all 
America,  and  this  became  at  once  celebrated  above  all 
others,  and  was  called  Sky-Town. 

To  this  camp,  as  towards  a  blazing  beacon,  the  men 
who  take  chances  came,  and  in  its  streets  gold-hunters 
from  Australia,  South  Africa,  and  California  mingled 
with  ox-eyed  runaway  plough-boys  from  Kansas  and 
Iowa,  wind-tanned  herders  from  Texas  and  Wyoming, 
and  tall  planters  from  the  valleys  of  Utah  and  Colorado. 
These  gentle  and  unsophisticated  fortune-seekers  were 
called  "alfalfa  miners"  by  the  hardened  and  self-con 
fident  men  of  hazards,  and  even  after  it  became  known 
that  more  than  half  of  all  the  big  strikes  had  been  made 
by  these  same  "tenderfeet"  they  were  regarded  with 
contempt.  In  the  end,  Sky-Town  dominated  the  whole 
camp  and  gave  name  to  it.  Bozle,  Grass  Mountain, 
Pin  Gulch,  Hoffman,  all  were  subordinated  in  fame  as 
they  were  topographically,  and  the  press  alluded  to  the 
region  as  the  Sky-Town  Mining  District. 

It  was  the  most  accessible  of  all  the  camps  of  Amer 
ica.  Its  nearness  to  the  plain  and  to  the  transconti 
nental  railways  made  it  possible  for  the  greenest  of 
green  grocers,  the  most  timid  villager,  to  pack  his  valise 
and  invade  the  mountains;  and  he  came! — in  tens  of 

I25 


Hesper 

thousands ;  but  as  he  commonly  walked  the  streets  for  a 
week  or  two,  looking  on  all  the  vice  and  hazard  of  the 
place  with  wonder-stricken  eyes,  and  then  faded  away, 
returning  to  his  hoe  and  his  plough,  his  presence  count 
ed  for  little.  The  cow-boys,  too,  came  loping  in  over 
the  trails  from  the  round-ups  in  the  valleys  to  the  west 
and  from  the  plains  to  the  east,  but  as  they  could  not 
mine  from  the  saddle,  and  as  they  loved  their  horses 
better  than  gold,  they,  too,  filed  away  down  the  valley, 
leaving  their  savings  with  the  faro-banks. 

In  those  days  the  bar-room  of  the  Mountain  House 
in  Bozle  was  the  central  stock-exchange  of  the  whole 
camp.  It  swarmed  of  an  evening  with  business-men 
from  Denver,  Kansas  City,  Chicago,  Salt  Lake,  San 
Francisco,  and  New  York.  Every  great  newspaper  had 
its  representative  there,  alert  and  indefatigable,  seeking 
the  latest  word  of  strikes  and  sales;  and  great  artists, 
sent  out  by  the  Eastern  magazines,  sat  about  the  mighty 
log  fire  taking  mental  note  of  its  details,  and  studying 
the  types  gathered  from  the  uttermost  parts  of  the 
,  earth. 

Notwithstanding  Bozle's  unprecedented  accessibility, 
these  Eastern  men  loved  to  imagine  themselves  exposed 
to  dangers  and  to  suffering — such  hardships  as  the  gold- 
hunters  of  California  and  Idaho  had  undergone.     Some 
J  of  them  assumed  the  garb  of  wild  Western  desperadoes. 

They  wore  guns,  and  strapped  leather  leggings  to  their 
slender  legs  and  clapped  wide  sombreros  upon  their 
bald  heads.  They  played  parts  in  this  border  drama, 
not  merely  for  others  like  unto  themselves,  but  for 
themselves.  When,  under  the  lead  of  Rocky  Moun 
tain  Kelly,  they  rode  forth  upon  the  hills,  it  was  with  a 
sense  of  exploration,  a  seeking  of  adventure,  a  daring; 

126 


Raymond    Enters    Sky -Town 

of  danger;  and  when  at  sunset  they  re-entered  the 
door  of  the  hotel,  it  was  with  such  joy  as  hunters  hail 
the  gleam  of  the  camp-fire,  where  faithful  comrades 
keep  vigil. 

Mingling  with  these  genial  actors,  these  boyish, 
fraudulent  bad  men  and  desperate  characters,  were  a 
few  investors  from  New  York  and  Boston  and  London, 
who  prided  themselves  on  never  for  a  moment  losing 
their  hold  on  a  single  habit  or  custom  of  their  native 
towns.  The  Boston  man  tetered  about  in  patent- 
leather  shoes,  with  firm-set,  pale  jaw.  The  New-York 
er  wore  the  latest  cut  of  coat  and  the  newest  shape  of 
pot-hat,  while  the  Londoner  querulously  complained  of 
the  soap  and  towels,  and  gloomily  turned  his  fried 
steak  from  end  to  end  in  hope  of  finding  some  part 
of  it  broiled. 

At  the  time  when  Raymond  entered  it,  Sky-Town 
was  the  busiest,  most  vital,  and  in  some  ways  the  most 
picturesque  mining  district  in  the  world.  It  was  at  its 
height  as  a  poor  man's  camp.  New  territory  was  being 
opened  up  each  day.  Each  evening  brought  stories  of 
strikes — scores  of  them.  Each  saloon  was  a  miniature 
exchange  and  held  a  throng  intently  full  of  bargains 
and  plans,  but  the  great  central  hall  of  the  Mountain 
House  in  Bozle  was  the  chief  meeting-place  of  expert, 
prospector,  and  investor. 

With  all  its  bustle  and  pressure  of  elbow  to  elbow, 
the  streets  were  quiet.  No  man  raised  furious  outcry, 
for  no  one  did  battle  with  the  fist — the  tradition  of  the 
revolver  was  still  all  powerful.  Curses  were  polite  and 
low- voiced,  for  the  free  miner,  the  gambler,  the  hunter, 
and  the  cow-boy  each  alike  resented  brawling  as  the 
cheap  recreation  of  hired  hands.  To  be  quite  fair, 

127 


Hesper 

only  now  and  then  was  a  man  killed— generally  at  the 
gaming-tables — so  far  had  the  camp  recognized  the 
change  since  the  days  of  forty-nine  and  sixty-three. 

As  the  district  was  made  up  of  those  who  took 
chances,  it  followed  that  gaming  was  the  chief  amuse 
ment  of  the  miner  and  the  business  of  first  magnitude 
even  in  the  satloons.  Every  drinking  -  place  had  its 
long  rows  of  devices  calculated  to  induce  the  unwary 
or  the  self-confident  to  take  instant  hazard.  Day 
and  night  the  click  of  the  marble  in  the  bowl,  rattle  of 
"  chips,"  the  steady  drone  of  the  "  crap-shooter  "  went 
on.  A  mountain-poet,  writing  from  close-hand  experi 
ence,  said  of  a  rival  camp,  "It  is  day  all  day  in  the 
daytime,  and  there  is  no  night  in  Creede;"  and  this 
precisely  applied  to  Sky-Town  and  Bozle.  And  yet  old 
miners,  who  had  seen  Yuma,  Pocatello,  and  Dead  Pine, 
scornfully  said:  "This  is  a  collection  of  tenderfeet — a 
town  of  punkin-rollers.  The  real  thing  is  gone  forever." 

Admitting  that  they  were  right,  it  was  vividly  in 
teresting  to  see  this  whirlpool  absorb  the  grizzled  and 
scarred  veterans  of  the  inland  ranges  as  well  as  the 
truant  sons  of  Kansas  and  Nebraska.  It  was  a  land 
of  which  anything  might  be  predicted — a  district  as 
cosmopolitan  as  any  in  the  world. 

The  streets  of  Bozle  were  graceless  and  grassless, 
but  Valley  Springs  was  a  bower  of  trees  and  growing 
vines.  The  houses  of  the  peak  were  tents,  sla'b-shacks, 
and  cabins  of  aspen  poles,  and  remained  so,  while 
splendid  stone  palaces  had  already  appeared  in  the 
valley,  and  every  comfort  and  nearly  every  luxury  of 
the  East  were  obtainable,  almost  common.  Both  were 
made  resplendent  by  their  association  with  the  great 
mountain,  which  for  a  hundred  years  had  lured  men 

128 


Raymond    Enters    Sky-Town 

across  the  dusty  plain,  beckoning  with  silent  but 
ever-changing  majesty  throughout  the  seasons.  Valley 
Springs  sat  at  his  feet.  Bozle  perched  on  his  shoul 
der,  pecking  at  his  heart  like  a  vulture. 

The  residents  of  these  singular  towns,  diverse  as  they 
seemed,  were,  after  all,  of  the  same  essential  character. 
They  were  gamblers  by  nature — the  men  of  the  valley 
no  less  than  those  of  the  peak.  As  one  of  them  said: 
"  Gold  is  a  priceless  thing — only  for  the  few.  It  is  not 
a  business — it  is  a  venture." 

In  other  ways  the  people  of  Bozle  were  peculiar. 
They  took  little  account  of  the  weather.  Rains  or 
snows  were  alike  to  them.  They  had  no  gardens  to 
grow  thirsty  for  water,  no  vegetables  to  be  nipped  by 
the  frost.  Stocks  and  the  daily  output  of  this  or  that 
mine  formed  their  staple  of  interest,  their  chief  anxiety. 
They  could  not  endure  the  slow  growth  of  grain,  but 
they  bore  repeated  failures  of  shafts  or  tunnels  with 
smiling  unconcern.  Dreaming  of  sudden  wealth  and 
vast  palaces  in  the  future,  they  lived  on  bacon  and 
beans  in  cabins  of  poles  so  low  that  only  the  women 
and  children  could  walk  erect. 

The  streets  of  this  amazing  camp  were  repulsive 
and  barren,  but  the  sky  that  roofed  them  was  superb. 
Range  after  range  of  mountains  lay  to  the  west,  serrate, 
illimitable,  marble -white  with  sudden  snow-falls;  but 
no  green  thing  grew  in  the  little  yards  and  open  spaces 
— but  what  of  that?  The  conical  heaps  of  ore  were 
better  worth  while  than  clumps  of  lilacs.  What  need 
had  they  of  daisies  in  a  land  where  the  splash  of  ore  in 
a  seam  was  subtler  than  moss,  and  ingots  of  gold  more 
glorious  than  poppies?  These  men,  riding  across  the 
hills,  looked  upon  the  earth,  not  to  discover  flora,  but 

Q  I2Q 


Hesper 

the  "  float "  of  golden  ledges.     To  them  a  bed  of  crum 
bled,  white  quartz  was  of  greater  beauty  than  lilies. 

No  one  really  lived  in  Sky-Town  or  Bozle — they  were 
merely  staying  for  a  change  of  fortune.  Strange  to  say, 
the  most  permanent  of  all  the  homes  were  built  by  the 
faro-dealers — the  most  impermanent,  one  would  say, 
of  the  bankers  of  the  town.  For  the  most  part,  the 
streets  consisted  of  a  disorderly  flock  of  cabins,  many 
of  them  resembling  the  box-cars  of  a  freight-train ;  but 
here  and  there  a  really  picturesque  log-house,  with  wide 
eaves,  stood  beneath  a  clump  of  firs,  whose  rigid,  hori 
zontal  branches  added  something  fine  and  austere  to 
the  picture.  All  paths  fell  into  each  other  at  last  and 
ended  in  the  saloons,  the  ways  to  the  grocery  being  less 
deeply  worn.  Not  that  the  camp  was  notably  drunken, 
for  it  was  not;  but  when  the  day's  work  was  done  each 
man  sought  diversion  and  the  news.  These  commodi 
ties  he  found  at  "The  Thirst  Parlor  "  and  "The  Golden 
Horn." 

Sky -Town  was,  therefore,  the  cupola  of  Sky-Camp. 
It  surveyed  the  whole  field,  dominated  only  by  the 
glittering  crest  of  Mogalyon,  which  rose  nearly  four 
thousand  feet  higher  into  the  thin  and  fleckless  air. 
Bozle  and  Hoffman  and  Indian  Creek  and  Eureka  and 
•a  half-dozen  other  villages  lay  below. 

As  a  mining-camp,  Sky-Town  had  no  fellow  in  the 
world.  It  had  no  canons,  no  picturesque  grouping  of 
rocks  and  trees.  It  rose  to  the  regions  of  clouds,  and 
yet  it  had  no  streams,  not  even  springs,  and  at  times 
men  suffered  for  lack  of  water  to  drink.  It  disordered 
all  previous  ideas  of  mines  and  prospecting  ground,  yet 
each  day  it  amazed  even  the  most  sanguine  by  its  out* 
put  of  ore. 

130 


Raymond    Enters    Sky-Town 

The  old  Calif ornian,  the  veterans  from  Africa  and 
Australia,  enjoyed  no  more  favor  than  those  who  came 
into  it  straight  from  the  ranch.  Seemingly,  it  was 
everybody's  game,  with  no  distinction  to  the  very  wise 
and  no  discrimination  against  the  foolish.  The  highest 
rules  of  mining  were  made  of  little  account,  every  prec 
edent  seemed  torn  and  cast  away. 

This  was  the  town,  the  camp,  towards  which  Ray 
mond  had  been  gazing  in  longing  and  irresolution 
for  two  years,  and  to  which  he  directed  his  steps  as 
soon  as  he  was  able  to  walk  with  something  of  his  old- 
time  vigor.  The  peak  represented  to  him  a  chance  to 
rise  out  of  his  slough.  It  was  a  hope,  a  possibility,  an 
opportunity  to  begin  the  new  life  which  some  change  in 
his  heart  now  demanded  of  him.  He  was  done  with 
small  things,  with  trivial  affairs.  Henceforth  he  re 
solved  to  live  largely  to  retrieve  himself  in  the  eyes  of 
those  who  loved  him. 

"In  such  a  camp,"  he  reasoned,  "my  luck  is  as  good 
as  any  other  man's." 

For  a  week  he  did  nothing  but  stroll  slowly  up  and 
down  the  streets  of  Bozle,  studying  his  surroundings, 
listening  to  all  that  was  said,  and  asking  searching  ques 
tions  of  every  man  who  seemed  to  know  anything  of 
mining  matters.  The  altitude  at  first  troubled  him 
greatly,  and  to  walk  up  the  slightest  incline  gave  him 
keen  pain.  Every  air-passage  distended  rigidly,  ached 
with  fatigue.  Deep  breathing  was  especially  painful 
to  him  because  of  his  wound ;  but  he  ate  well  and  slept 
well,  and  day  by  day  his  strength  and  native  resolution 
expanded  within  him,  and  he  began  to  definitely  seek 
a  place  whereon  to  try  his  hands  at  labor. 

One  night,  as  he  sat  toasting  his  shins  before  the  big 


Hesper 

fire  in  the  hotel,  he  became  immensely  interested  in  the 
grand  physical  proportions  and  easy,  unstudied  grace 
of  a  middle-aged  miner  who  stood  with  his  back  to  the 
fire  replying  to  the  rapid  questions  of  a  young  reporter 
whose  head  was  bent  absorbedly  above  his  note-book 
and  pencil.  The  prospector  satisfied  every  requisite 
of  a  mountaineer.  His  massive  head,  covered  with 
grizzled  hair,  his  handsome,  weather-beaten,  smiling 
face,  his  worn,  laced  boots,  spattered  with  mud,  his 
rusty-brown  jacket,  and  his  broad  hat,  worn  with  care 
less  yet  unfailing  grace,  made  him  easily  the  most  pict 
uresque  figure  in  the  room ;  and  when  some  one  clapped 
him  on  the  back  and  called  out,  "Hello,  Kelly!"  Ray 
mond  realized,  with  a  pleasant  warming  of  the  heart, 
that  he  was  looking  upon  Rocky  Mountain  Kelly,  who 
knew  the  ranges  of  the  West  as  intimately  as  the  lines 
on  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

Seeking  opportunity,  he  touched  the  big  man  on  the 
shoulder.  "Are  you  Matthew  Kelly?" 

Kelly  turned  his  keen,  gray  eyes  on  his  questioner. 
"I  am,  sir.  What  can  I  do  for  ye?" 

"  I've  heard  you're  a  good-natured  man,"  began  Ray 
mond. 

Kelly  slid  his  hand  into  his  pocket.  "How  much 
is  it?" 

Raymond  laughed.     "Do  I  look  like  that?" 

"You  look  like  a  sick  man,"  replied  Kelly,  scrutiniz 
ing  him.  "And  a  hungry  man." 

"I'm  neither,"  Raymond  smilingly  replied.  "I've 
just  eaten  the  supper  they  serve  here,  and  I'm  fairly 
comfortable;  but  I  want  to  ask  your  advice  about  a 
business  matter.  If  you  had  a  little  money  and  wanted 
to  break  into  mining,  what  would  you  do?" 

132 


Raymond   Enters    Sky-Town 

"Take  out  a  lease,"  answered  Kelly,  promptly. 

"Do  you  know  of  a  promising  property  to  lease?" 

"I  do." 

"Will  you  show  it  to  me?" 

"I  will." 

Raymond  was  amused  by  the  crisp  succinctness  of 
these  replies.  It  was  plain  that  the  prospector  was 
sizing  him  up,  and  favorably. 

Kelly  indicated  a  chair.  "Sit  down,  man;  ye  look 
like  a  citizen  with  a  lung  faded." 

Raymond  took  a  seat  and  Kelly  drew  up  another,  a 
little  facing  him,  and  began  to  question  in  Ms  turn. 

"Where  are  ye  from?" 

"  I'm  a  rancher  from  the  plains." 

"And  ye  want  to  mine?" 

"Yes." 

"It's  ninety-nine  chances  to  one  ye  lose  y'r  wad. 

"I  know  it." 

"Have  ye  a  wife?" 

"I  have  not." 

"Any  one  dependin'  on  ye?" 

"No  one." 

Kelly  relaxed,  and  his  eyes  began  to  gleam  fnendhly. 
"Very  well,  then,  I  consent  to  rob  ye.     I'm  the  owner 
of  one  mine  into  which  I've  put  me  last  dollar,  but 
know  a  dandy  proposition  which  I'd  like  to  display. 
I'll  take  ye  with  me  over  the  hills  when  ye're  a  litt 
better  acquainted  with  me;  and  when  ye've  seen  the 
mine  we'll  talk  the  terms  of  partnership.     The  banke 
all  know  me,  and  the  faro-dealers  likewise— the  more 
shame  to  me."     A  smile  of  singular  charm  curved  his 
handsome  lips.     "But  never  mind  that    Matt 
never  tuck  advantage  of  any  man,  and  that,  I  think, 

133 


Hesper 

ye'll  find  me  neighbors  agreed  upon.  I'll  not  say  I  like 
the  looks  of  ye — that  would  sound  like  blarney — the 
truth  bein'  I'm  seekin'  a  partner;  but  in  a  day  or  two 
I'll  lay  me  scheme  before  ye." 

Putting  aside  business,  they  talked  of  their  personal 
affairs,  Raymond  guardedly,  Kelly  with  entire  freedom 
and  some  humor.  "I'm  no  Dutchman,"  he  said, 
"much  as  ye  might  think  it  from  me  accint.  Frugality 
is  not  one  of  me  strong  points,  as  Nora,  me  little  wife, 
can  tell  ye.  Three  times  I've  made  a  little  stake,  and 
lost  it  through  me  own  foolishness;  but  this  time  I'm 
seeking  a  partner  who  can  kape  a  grip  on  me  elbow 
when  I  stand  before  the  red  spots  on  a  faro-table.  Ye 
do  not  look  like  a  drinkin'  man,  and  by  yer  manner 
of  speech  ye  can  read  and  write.  I  nade  a  man  like 
that — not 'of  me  own  kind.  But  there,  we'll  lave  all 
that  till  to-morrow." 

He  seemed  to  know  every  mining-camp  from  Chi 
huahua  to  the  Kootenai  Lakes.  He  had  struck  a  lead 
in  the  Savage  Basin,  and  lost  it  in  the  Red  Mountain 
Valley.  He  had  retrieved  himself  at  Creede,  only  to 
"blow  his  little  wad  into  the  game"  at  Sylvanite.  He 
was  married,  and  had  two  little  boys,  for  whom  he  was 
now  living.  "  Since  Nora  came,"  he  said,  with  tender 
ness,  "I  drink  no  more;  but  gambling  is  in  me  blood. 
I  play  no  more  with  cards  or  dice,  but  with  lodes  and 
shafts.  I'm  always  taking  on  new  chances.  I  load 
meself  up  with  'good  things'  till  me  back  is  broke 
and  me  hands  fall  empty." 

There  was  something  winning  in  the  humorous  glance 
of  his  big,  gray  eyes,  and  Raymond  sat  with  him  long. 
His  vast  experience,  his  indomitable  good-nature,  his 
physical  pride,  all  appealed  to  the  rancher  with  such 

134 


Raymond    Enters    Sky-Town 

power  that  he  left  him  with  a  distinct  exaltation 
"Here  is  the  man  to  help  me  make  my  fortune,  and 
I  can  be  guide  to  him,"  he  added,  and  he  went  to  sleep 
that  night  with  greater  confidence  in  his  future  than 
at  any  time  since  taking  Barnett's  ranch.  He  set  his 
teeth  hard  in  the  determination  to  win,  and  though  he 
had  put  Ann  quite  out  of  his  plans  for  the  future,  she 
remained  an  inspiration  and  a  lure. 

His  feeling  of  confidence  in  Kelly  was  deepened  by  his 
ride  with  him  next  day.  First  of  all,  the  big  miner 
could  sit  a  horse  with  easy  grace,  and  that  confirmed 
what  he  had  said  concerning  his  past  life.  Then,  too, 
his  eyes  were  clear  and  keen,  untouched  of  gluttony  or 
intemperance  in  drink.  He  strode  a  powerful  bay 
horse,  and  his  saddle,  though  worn,  was  of  the  best 
model  and  marked  in  Mexican  silver.  In  everything 
he  did,  Matt  Kelly  satisfied  the  eye.  He  was  effective. 

Turning  from  the  gulch  road,  he  led  the  way  up 
the  side  of  Pine  Mountain,  along  a  trail  which  braided 
itself  upon  a  grassy  slope  like  a  purple-brown  ribbon. 
The  air  was  keen,  the  sky  a  fleckless  blue  hemisphere. 
Far  away  to  the  west  the  great  central  range  rose  mar 
ble-white,  and  above  the  dark-green  summit  of  pine 
loomed  the  yellow- white,  rounded  mass  of  Mogalyon. 
Raymond's  blood  leaped  with  the  joy  of  it,  and  with  a 
sense  that  his  feet  were  set  at  last  on  the  road  to  fortune. 

All  about  him  the  miners  were  climbing,  each  his 
-special  way,  swinging  a  tin  bucket  which  sparkled  like 
glass  in  the  morning  sun.  Great  wains  loaded  with  ore 
rolled  creaking  on  their  downward  course,  while  others 
of  their  kind,  piled  high  with  lumber  and  machinery, 
•crawled  slowly  up  the  curving  roads.  On  every  side 
-men  were  tunnelling  into  the  hill-sides,  trenching  in 

135 


Hesper 

gullies,  and  toiling  at  windlasses  whose  joints  cried  out 
resoundingly  as  the  heavy  ore-boxes  rose.  The  whole 
scene  set  forth  buoyant  activity  and  hope.  Each  man 
had  either  struck  ore  or  hoped  to  do  so  at  any  moment. 

Many  of  the  miners  knew  Kelly,  and  stopped  him  to 
show  their  ore  and  ask  his  opinion.  To  each  one  he 
was  frank  and  kindly,  but  careful  not  to  raise  undue 
expectations.  Once  they  passed  a  couple  of  men 
"  witching  "  for  their  vein.  One  of  them,  with  a  forked 
willow  withe  in  his  outstretched  palms,  was  ambling  to 
and  fro,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  upright  end  of  the  stick. 
Kelly,  with  an  oily  chuckle,  called  out:  "Boys,  are  ye 
in  need  o'  drinkin'  water?  I  see  ye  witchin'  for  a  well." 

The  necromancer  paid  no  manner  of  attention,  but 
his  companion  looked  up  with  a  broad  grin. 

"  I  don't  go  a  cent  on  the  darn  thing  myself,"  he  ex 
plained. 

The  conjurer  stopped,  and,  planting  his  foot  firmly 
on  a  big  bowlder,  said,  with  conviction,  "It's  right 
under  here." 

"  Good-luck  to  ye,"  called  Kelly,  over  his  horse's  tail. 
"And  when  ye  find  it,  lave  no  man  credit  but  y'rself." 

As  they  rose,  Raymond  began  to  comprehend  the  dis 
trict.  It  was  a  group  of  hills  semi-detached  from 
Mogalyon  and  forming  his  raised  right  shoulder.  To 
the  west  six  distinctive  but  distant  ranges  of  mountains 
rose,  glittering  with  snow,  blued  by  hundreds  of  miles 
of  atmosphere.  To  the  east  the  lesser  heights  of  the 
Rampart  Range  shut  off  the  view  of  the  plain.  To 
the  north  lay  a  small,  parklike  valley.  To  the  south  a 
series  of  canons  cutting  deep  into  the  ever-diminishing 
hills. 

Here  and  there  on  the  slope  a  tall  and  shapeless  shaft- 
136 


Raymond    Enters    Sky-Town 

house  rose,  with  heaps  of  orange  and  blue-gray  refuse 
rock  close  beside  it.  The  whole  camp  was  as  yet  dis 
organized,  formless,  and  debatable.  Not  one  in  a  hun 
dred  of  the  mines  was  a  paying  property,  all  the  others 
were  mere  prospects. 

As  they  left  Baldy  and  turned  to  climb  Pine  Moun 
tain,  the  dwellings  thickened.  They  were  nearly  all  built 
of  the  smooth,  straight  trunks  of  the  aspen,  but  near 
er  the  summit  were  of  fir,  and  a  few  of  them  stood  in 
picturesque  nooks  amid  the  rocks.  Towards  one  of 
these,  more  homelike  than  the  others,  Kelly  directed 
his  horse,  and  as  he  neared  the  door  a  couple  of  lusty, 
yellow-haired  boys  of  six  or  seven  years  of  age  came 
bounding  out  to  meet  him. 

"  Hello,  nuggets!"  he  called,  and  turned  to  Raymond 
with  a  proud  look  on  his  face.  "  Oh,  the  lungs  of  them ! 
This  altitude  makes  no  difference  wid  their  diviltry. 
They  race  and  howl  the  whole  day  long.  Aisy  now," 
he  said,  warningly,  as  they  began  to  swarm  up  his  legs 
like  wild-cats.  "Aisy  now;  ye '11  sile  me  boots." 

When  they  were  seated,  one  behind  and  one  before, 
Kelly  turned  again  with  comical  grin.  "Negotiations 
is  suspended ;  three  times  around  the  house  I  go. "  And 
so,  while  Raymond  waited,  the  indulgent  giant  made 
three  circuits  of  the  house  with  his  shouting  sons. 

"  Now,  if  ye'll  light  off,  Robert,  I  will  introduce  you 
to  me  superior  officer." 

Mrs.  Kelly  was  unexpectedly  lady-like,  small,  and 
very  pretty,  with  a  skin  that  no  wind  could  tan,  and  her 
great,  wistful,  pathetic,  gray  eyes  appealed  to  Ray 
mond  with  instant  power.  She  greeted  him  cordially, 
and,  while  Kelly  took  the  horses  to  the  corral,  he  en 
tered  at  her  invitation.  Her  voice  was  as  charming  as 

137 


Hesper 

her  pale  face  and  hair  of  burnished  gold,  and  the  young 
fellow  looked  upon  her  in  surprise. 

"How  do  you  like  living  so  high  in  the  world?"  he 
asked,  as  he  took  a  seat  in  the  tiny  little  living-room. 

"Not  very  well.     The  air  is  so  thin  up  here." 

"  It  is  thin.  I  can  hardly  walk  a  block  even  down  in 
the  Creek —  How  am  I  to  do  any  work?"  he  asked 
of  Kelly,  as  he  entered  a  few  moments  later. 

Kelly  laughed.  "Ye'll  develop  lungs  like  a  bull 
frog.  Look  at  me!"  and  he  struck  his  huge  chest  a 
resounding  blow. 

"You  don't  look  very  well,  sir,"  Mrs.  Kelly  said  to 
Raymond. 

"I'm  not  very  well,  but  I'm  going  to  tear  up  the  sod 
just  the  same.  Your  husband  is  to  show  me  how." 

"Matt  can  find  gold  easy  enough,  but  he  can't  keep 
it." 

"I've  confessed  as  much,  Nora,  me  girl,  and  if  Ray 
mond  can  help  me  on  that  score,  I'll  put  him  in  the  way 
of  makin'  his  pile.  Can  ye  walk  a  few  rods?  If  so,  I'll 
show  ye  the  mine  and  the  chance." 

"Certainly.     I'm  far  from  being  a  ' one-lunger '  yet." 

The  two  men  walked  round  the  little  grove  of  firs  to 
the  west,  and  came  upon  some  men  busy  with  a  very 
small  upright  engine  hoisting  ore  from  a  shaft. 

"Here,"  said  Kelly,  "is  where  we  tap  'the  river  of 
life.'  This  is  my  own  mine,  but  the  wan  I  advise  ye 
to  take  is  that  just  beyond.  I  have  an  offer  for  me 
own  prospect,  but  I  shall  not  take  it.  If  ye  are  agree 
able,  we'll  lease  the  Last  Dollar  together,  and  work 
it  to  the  limit,  for  I'm  satisfied  its  vein  is  the  same  as 
me  own,  which  will  keep;  but  if  I  strike  ore,  Curran, 
who  owns  the  Last  Dollar,  will  jump  his  price  to  the 

138 


Raymond  Enters    Sky-Town 

moon.  Our  lay  is  to  bond  and  lease  his  mine,  move  my 
machinery  over  to  his  old  shaft,  and  work  like  mad  to 
open  up  ore  to  buy  in  the  property.  Ye  see,  no  one 
has  touched  pay  ore  in  this  quarter,  and  Curran  is  anx 
ious  to  sell.  He  offers  it  at  fifteen  thousand  dollars.  I 
believe  we  can  open  a  vein  that  '11  pay  fer  it  in  less  than 
six  months.  Will  ye  go  in  with  me?" 

"I  will." 

As  their  hands  met,  their  hearts  warmed  to  each 
other.  Kelly  removed  his  hat,  and  was  almost  solemn 
as  he  said,  slowly:  "This  makes  us  both.  Now  let's  go 
eat." 

The  Kelly  home  was  as  suited  to  its  surroundings  as 
a  Swiss  chalet.  It  had  the  dirt  roof,  the  widely  pro 
jecting  eaves,  and  the  Southern  porch  of  a  mountain 
cabin,  and  its  latch-string  and  battened  door  were  in 
keeping— only  the  windows,  with  their  machine-made 
frames,  were  out  of  key.  There  were  two  small  bed 
rooms,  a  living-room,  which  served  also  for  dining- 
room,  and  a  tiny  kitchen;  and  yet  it  produced  on  Ray 
mond's  mind  the  most  charming  effect  of  unhesitating 
hospitality  and  homeliness.  This  was  due  as  much  to 
the  charm  of  Mrs.  Kelly's  manner  as  to  the  deep-voiced, 
cordial  invitation  of  the  host  himself.  There  was  no 
lock  on  their  door  and  no  bar  to  their  warm  hearts. 

But  Raymond  saw  what  Matt's  loving  eyes  could  not 
discern — Nora  was  overworked  and  losing  heart.  In 
spite  of  her  ready  smile  and  cordial  seconding  of  her 
husband's  invitation,  "Ye  must  make  your  home  with 
us,"  she  was  not  strong  enough  to  take  on  this  extra 
care,  and  he  resolved  to  stay  in  Bozle  till  he  could 
build  a  cabin  for  himself. 

As  they  finished  their  meal  he  said:   "Now,  Mrs. 
139 


Hesper 

Kelly,  you  must  let  me  help  you  about  the  dishes; 
please  don't  object.  I  won't  listen  to  a  word  you  say. 
I  used  to  be  a  cook  in  a  cow-camp,  and  I'm  handy  as  a 
widower.  If  I  can  pull  on  a  winze,  I  can  help  keep 
house." 

In  the  end  he  had  his  way,  and  she  sat  with  tears  in 
her  eyes  and  a  smile  on  her  lips  while  he  washed  and 
wiped  the  dishes. 

"Matt  Kelly,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself," 
said  she,  in  admiration  of  Raymond's  deftness. 

"Should  I  be  washin'  dishes?"  queried  Matt,  lifting 
one  big  fist  in  the  air.  "Sure  you'll  need  something 
better  than  iron-stone  chiny  to  withstand  me.  But 
wait  you;  in  six  months  you'll  have  a  hired  girl  in  every 
corner  of  the  room  and  a  nickel-plated  fly-trap .  Sure ! ' ' 

"Ye  always  were  rich  in  fine  words,  Matt,"  she  re 
plied,  with  a  gurgle  of  laughter. 


Jack    Munro 

ETE  in  the  afternoon,  after  they  had  talked  long 
at  the  mouth  of  the  mine,  Kelly  and  Raymond 
left  the  house  and  walked  out  along  the  ridge  towards 
Sky-Town,  which  was  built  where  the  ground  rose  from 
a  pine-clad  plateau  to  a  rocky  point  overlooking  the 
valley  to  the  north.  It  had  but  one  business  street, 
which  repeated  in  unpainted  lumber  all  the  shoddy 
architecture  of  a  prairie  town,  whose  flaming  battle 
ments  pretend  to  a  dignity  which  they  do  not  fulfil. 
So  far  the  place  was  without  distinction ;  but  here  and 
there,  even  along  Saloon  Row,  the  original  dwellings  of 
the  camp  stood  in  testimony  of  the  skilled  handiwork 
of  the  pioneer.  They  were  simple,  dignified,  signifi 
cant  of  the  life  which  admitted  no  shams. 

The  town,  in  short,  set  forth  in  its  physical  features 
the  almost  unexampled  mixture  of  hunters,  trappers, 
cow-boys,  prairie-dwellers,  slavish  miners,  and  gam 
blers  which  made  up  its  population.  As  the  beauti 
fully  built  log-cabins  (snugly  set  beneath  clumps  of 
trees)  alternated  with  the  most  slovenly  shapeless 
shacks,  so  the  drunken,  spiritless  tramp  set  his  elbow  to 
that  of  heroic  prospectors  like  Kelly,  and  women  of 
the  unnameable  sort  called  across  the  street  to  honest 
working- women — wives  of  newly  arrived  mechanics. 

141 


Hesper 

The  chief  business  of  the  street  was  gambling.  Next 
in  order  stood  rum-selling,  with  assaying  a  close  third. 
Exhibits  of  ore  filled  every  window,  and  before  these 
exhibits  groups  of  greenhorns  slowly  moved.  Nothing 
was  ignored,  every  speck  of  "color,"  each  new  piece  of 
rock  was  scanned  by  these  tenderfeet,  who  roamed  all 
day  from  door  to  door,  and  especially  swarmed  between 
supper-time  and  sundown.  For  all  their  trust,  their 
imagination,  they  had  no  eyes  for  the  transcendent 
sunsets  which  swept  over  the  sky  and  the  valley,  night 
by  night,  with  a  flare  of  color  that  alarmed,  like  the 
sound  of  God's  own  trumpet.  From  the  hill  to  the 
west,  or  the  lookout  to  the  east,  sensitive  souls 
bowed  in  humility  before  the  passing  of  the  day, 
so  varied  was  the  color,  so  majestic  the  spread  of 
earth. 

The  men  who  sat  at  dice  or  lounged  at  the  drinking- 
bars  were  not  of  those  who  weigh  the  gold  of  evening 
nor  greet  the  crimson  banners  of  the  morning  with  song; 
but  to  Raymond  these  mountain  -  scenes  were  over 
awing.  He  fell  silent  before  the  supremacy  of  the  sun 
set.  He  lingered  now  in  the  path,  and  Kelly,  receiving 
no  answer  to  a  question,  looked  up,  understood  the  ex 
altation  in  his  partner's  face,  and  checked  the  word 
upon  his  lips. 

At  last  Raymond  said,  "  I  thought  the  plains  mighty, 
but  that  scene  is  mightier." 

"  I  put  me  cabin  so  that  Nora  and  the  boys  could  see 
it,"  replied  Kelly,  simply,  and  they  resumed  their  walk 
in  silence. 

The  street  was  swarming  as  usual,  but  the  talk  was 
directed,  for  the  moment,  to  one  topic.  A  convention 
of  miners  had  been  called  to  meet  in  the  Golden  Horn 

142 


Jack    Munro 

saloon,  and  several  who  knew  Kelly  called  out,  "Hello, 
Matt,  we're  going  to  make  you  president  of  the 
union." 

Kelly  smiled  as  if  all  this  were  a  joke,  and  introduced 
his  friend  and  partner.  Raymond  shook  hands  with 
each  man  heartily,  well  knowing  that  if  he  were  to  re 
main  in  the  camp,  it  would  be  well  to  be  on  friendly 
terms  with  all.  Following  the  lead  of  others,  they  were 
soon  wedged  into  a  throng  which  filled  the  largest  sa 
loon  of  the  street  —  a  huge  gambling  establishment 
called  the  Golden  Horn,  of  which  Marvin  Hanley,  a 
celebrated  gambler,  was  proprietor. 

For  the  first  time  since  the  opening  of  the  Golden 
Horn's  door,  gambling  was  suspended  and  the  machines 
of  chance  set  aside.  The  proprietor,  a  pale  man  with 
close-clipped,  yellow  hair — a  man  who  looked  like  a 
Catholic  priest — mounted  a  box  at  one  end  of  the  room 
and  called  the  house  to  order.  "You  know  the  pur 
poses  of  this  meeting,"  said  he.  "Now,  who  will  you 
have  for  chairman?" 

"Kelly!     Kelly!"  cried  a  dozen  men. 

"Munro!"  shouted  those  farther  up  the  hall. 

"Moved  and  seconded  that  Munro  be  chairman," 
said  the  smooth-faced  man.  "All  who  favor  say 
'Ay'!"  A  shout  of  many  mingled  voices  answered. 
"Opposed,  'No'."  Only  an  obvious  minority  voted 
"No."  "Munro  is  elected.  Jack,  get  up  here!" 

As  the  new  chairman's  head  rose  above  the  throng, 
Raymond  experienced  a  shock.  'I  know  that  man," 
he  said,  under  his  breath.  Munro  was  a  clean-shaven, 
boyish  fellow,  with  black  hair  pushed  back  from  his 
face.  He  was  young  and  handsome,  and  began  speak 
ing  in  a  clear,  musical,  and  most  persuasive  voice.  It 


Hesper 

was  plain  he  was  on  good  terms  with  his  audience  and 
quite  certain  of  himself. 

"I  don't  know  why  I  should  be  made  chairman  of 
this  meeting,"  he  said,  after  some  local  allusions,  ''un 
less  it  be  to  open  the  way  for  the  real  speaker  and 
man  of  the  hour  —  the  man  who  has  a  message  for 
yOU — Tom  Larned  of  Dead  Pine."  Cheers  for  Larned 
followed.  Munro  went  on.  "I'm  a  prospector,  not  a 
miner."  A  ripple  of  laughter  arose.  "  But,  of  course, 
my  sympathies  are  always  with  the  heavy-handed 
sons  of  toil,  and  I'm  glad  to  know  Sky -Town  is  to 
have  a  union.  I'll  do  all  I  can  to  further  it.  Brain 
and  brawn  should  be  united  in  this  business."  He 
raised  one  white,  handsome,  supple  hand  in  the  air. 
"  I  furnish  the  brawn  " — again  a  roar  of  laughter  burst 
forth,  for  there  was  a  subtle  twist  in  the  speaker's  voice 
which  took  hold  of  his  audience — "and  the  brains  will 
be  furnished  by  Brother  Larned,  who  will  now  address 
you,  while  I  take  a  drink.  Brother  Larned,  it's  up 
to  you." 

While  the  crowd  applauded,  Larned  climbed  to  his 
place  and  began  to  speak.  He  was  a  short  man,  with 
a  forward  thrust  of  the  chin.  His  high  forehead  was 
smooth  and  pale,  its  calm  lines  in  vivid  contrast  with 
his  burning  blue  eyes.  Plainly  he  was  a  vigorous,  in 
tense,  and  bigoted  thinker,  a  man  of  far-seeing  intelli 
gence,  but  with  narrow  interests.  His  voice,  harsh 
and  penetrating,  filled  the  hall  with  an  effect  of  clamor, 
and  his  words  were  like  pebbles  from  a  sling.  He 
ignored  all  of  Munro's  joking,  and  thrust  his  way  into 
the  middle  of  his  contention. 

"I  hear  some  men  say  we  don't  need  a  union  here, 
but  I  tell  you  you  do.  You're  going  the  way  of  all 

144 


Jack    Munro 

mining-camps.  As  soon  as  the  claims  are  all  taken, 
consolidations  begin,  and  wages  will  be  cut.  A  big 
mining-camp  must  be  run  by  union  labor.  'Punkin 
rollers'  and  prospectors  don't  maintain  a  big,  perma 
nent,  deep  mine.  The  work  has  got  to  be  done  by  men 
bred  to  the  mine,  and  they  must  be  organized;  if 
they're  not,  they'll  work  for  nothing.  This  camp  is 
about  to  decline — " 

"No!     No!"  shouted  a  dozen  men. 

The  speaker  held  up  a  hand.  "Wait  a  moment!  I 
mean  to  say  that  this  swarm  of  easy-going  tramps 
scratching  the  surface,  looking  for  a  mine,  will  begin  to 
melt  away — it  is  already  melting  away.  These  men 
on  horseback,  these  grub-stakers,  these  burro-punchers, 
will  not  dig  gold  for  other  men."  ["You  bet  they 
won't,"  shouted  a  big-lunged  fellow.]  "The real  miners 
have  got  to  get  underground  and  stay  there!  You  un 
derstand?  Stay  there!  And  they  will  want  some 
body  on  top  to  look  after  their  interests.  They'll 
want  a  union,  if  you  don't;  but,  I  tell  you,  you  short- 
term  miners  will  want  a  union  before  February  is 
out." 

In  such  wise  he  argued,  and  even  Kelly  admitted  the 
truth  of  what  he  said.  Others  spoke,  grizzled  old  fel 
lows  from  other  districts,  men  who  had  given  up  all 
hope  of  discovering  a  lead  for  themselves;  men  with 
families  to  feed  and  educate,  who  had  fallen  to  content 
ment  with  a  good  wage  and  a  steady  job.  But  in  some 
of  the  speeches  a  note  of  bitterness  towards  Valley 
Springs  made  itself  heard.  Sky-Town  had  begun  to 
hate  the  valley  as  the  home  of  those  who  lived  on  the 
labor  of  others,  and  some  of  those  in  the  valley,  as 
Raymond  well  knew,  expressed  their  contempt  of  those 

10  14$ 


Hesper 

who  dwelt  in  the  Sky  by  calling  them  ''red  necks,"  in 
allusion  to  their  tanned  or  drink-inflamed  faces. 

These  citizens  of  Sky-Town  (who  suffered  little  on 
account  of  sickness)  retaliated  by  calling  their  neigh 
bors  of  the  Springs  "dudes"  and  "one-lungers,"  in  al 
lusion  to  their  having  settled  in  the  West  for  the  sake 
of  their  broken  health.  Politically  the  two  towns  were 
already  as  wide  apart  as  the  poles,  and  references  to 
this  division  were  numerous  during  the  evening.  The 
county  was  divided  against  itself  and  hopelessly  em 
bittered,  and  Bozle  was  eager  to  be  free  from  the 
valley. 

Kelly,  weary  of  the  wrangle,  touched  Raymond  on 
the  arm,  and  turned  towards  the  door.  A  big  miner, 
detecting  this  movement,  shouted  out,  "Here's  Kelly 
taking  a  sneak!" 

Instantly  Kelly  was  seized,  a  couple  of  brawny  fel 
lows  lifted  him  to  the  bar,  and  so,  towering  over  them 
all,  the  big  prospector  took  off  his  hat  and,  with  smiling 
composure,  said:  "Boys,  I  wish  ye  well.  I  make  no 
objection  to  the  plans;  but  why  should  I,  an  old  burro- 
puncher,  bother  me  head  about  a  union?  No  one  is 
cuttin*  my  wages.  No  one  is  shortening  my  hours  of 
labor.  Besides"  —  and  here  he  broke  into  a  broad 
smile — "I'm  an  employer  of  labor  meself." 

"Down  wid  'im!"  shouted  Munro. 

"To  what  extent?"  asked  another. 

"To  the  whole  of  five  men — not  countin'  meself, " 
answered  Kelly,  with  a  roguish  grin.  "And  I'm  a 
har-r-rd  master." 

A  roar  of  laughter  responded  to  his  jest. 

"Down  with  the  oppressor  of  labor!"  shouted  Munro. 
"Off  with  'shead!" 

146 


Jack    Munro 

Kelly  playfully  struck  at  him  with  his  hat,  and  then 
became  serious.  "  Now,  boys,  let  me  tell  you.  I  hon 
estly  don't  think  you  need  a  union.  The  landscape  is 
wide  up  here ;  there's  a  chance  for  every  man  in  the  hills. 
I  believe  in  the  big,  free  land.  When  any  man  tries  to 
corner  me,  I  take  me  mule  and  strike  out  into  the  wild 
country.  I  have  no  fear  of  the  Red  Star  Mining  Com 
pany,  nor  any  other,  and  you  needn't.  I  do  not  op 
pose  the  union — mind  what  I'm  sayin' ;  it's  well  enough 
for  those  who  believe  in  it,  and  nade  it,  but  lave  me 
out  of  it.  The  Kelly s  will  take  care  of  themselves." 

Larned  was  on  his  box  before  Kelly  had  time  to 
get  down,  and,  levelling  his  ringer  at  him,  cried  out, 
sharply : 

"That's  all  well  and  good  for  you,  Matt  Kelly,  a 
-skilled  prospector,  a  man  with  a  paying  mine  already, 
but  how  about  these  men  who  have  no  skill  in  finding 
gold,  who  are  working  for  money  to  start  themselves  a 
home.  How  about  those  who  are  hoping  to  bring  their 
families  here  and  clothe  and  educate  them?  They  are 
not  so  fond  of  all  out-doors.  They  haven't  even  the 
mule  and  the  grub-stake.  They  are  holed-up  five  hun 
dred  or  a  thousand  feet  underground,  working  for  a 
company,  and  this  company,  I  tell  you,  has  no  regard 
for  its  hands.  Their  interests  are  not  those  of  the 
miner.  You  may  blarney  all  you  like,  but  the  miners 
must  look  out  for  their  own  interests,  just  as  the  em 
ployer  hires  lawyers  and  agents  to  look  after  his." 

"Very  true,"  replied  Kelly,  calmly.  "I'm  not  ob- 
jectin'  to  that.  Organize  and  take  care  o'  labor's  in 
terests,  but  don't  ask  me,  an  employer  of  labor,  to 
throw  up  me  hat  when  you  vote  to  raise  the  wages  of 
me  five  men.  I'll  fight  scandalous—" 

147 


Hesper 

The  crowd  was  amused.  Plainly  it  did  not  take  the 
contention  seriously,  and  wished  it  to  go  on. 

"Go  it,  Kelly!  You  have  him  on  three  legs  and 
goin'!"  shouted  a  wag,  and,  amid  the  laughter  that  fol 
lowed,  Kelly  leaped  down  and  made  for  the  door. 

When  Raymond  overtook  him  again  he  was  in  talk 
with  a  lean  young  fellow  with  large,  bright  eyes,  who 
had  the  tone  of  an  old  and  bitterly  disappointed  man. 
He  was  saying: 

"  A  union !  Of  course  we'll  have  a  union.  The  glory 
of  Ichabod  is  departed.  I  saw  a  fist-fight  in  the  Creek 
to-day.  This  camp  is  on  the  decline  right  now.  We'll 
have  an  ordinance  against  carrying  guns  next.  Then 
I  emigrate." 

Kelly  introduced  him.  "Rob,  shake  hands  with 
Mr.  Dolan,  correspondent  of  the  Valley  Springs  News. 
Jim,  this  is  my  new  partner." 

Dolan,  as  he  clasped  hands,  remarked,  "You've  met 
up  with  a  good  man — a  man  that  won't  do  ye — and 
there  aren't  many  like  him  in  this  town." 

"Ye  must  not  mind  what  Dolan  says,  Rob,"  re 
marked  Kelly.  "He's  always  kickin'  like  a  bay  steer 
in  harness.  Nothin'  suits  him." 

"Well,  much  obliged,  Matt,"  said  the  reporter.  "Mr. 
Raymond,  I'll  see  you  again." 

Only  long  after  did  it  come  to  Raymond's  mind  that 
Kelly  had  been  giving  Dolan  a  note  concerning  their 
plans,  and  that  his  whereabouts  would  be  at  once  made 
known  to  Valley  Springs  and  to  Louis. 

"Who  is  this  man  Munro?"  asked  Raymond,  as  they 
left  the  reporter  and  started  for  home. 

"He's  a  devil-may-care  chap  from  Red  Cliff.  He 
pretends  to  be  a  miner,  and  is  a  partner  with  an  old 

148 


Jack    Munro 

fellow  on  the  north  side  o'  the  hill,  but  he's  workin'  £OF 
Hanley — lookout  for  the  roulette-wheel.  The  boys  all 
think  a  heap  of  him.  They  say  he  always  gives  'em  a 
square  deal." 

"Does  he?" 

"I  think  so.     I  never  heard  to  the  contrary." 

"  Lamed  was  right  about  the  union,"  said  Raymond. 
"The  big  owners  in  the  Springs  are  sending  East  for 
their  miners.  They  know  that  men  like  you  and  me 
will  not  do  their  deep  work  for  them.  He's  right,  too, 
in  saying  these  cow-boys  and  farm-hands  from  the 
States  won't  make  miners.  They  don't  intend  to  work 
underground.  We'll  find  ourselves  left  short  some 
morning,  if  we  depend  on  these  fellows,  who  can  hit  the 
trail  at  ten  minutes'  notice." 

"Sure  thing,"  said  Kelly.  "This  gettin'  under  the 
crust  o'  the  earth  and  livin'  there  is  unholy  business — 
not  for  free  men  like  ourselves.  It's  all  goin'  to  be 
done  by  the  Rooshians  and  the  Dagoes." 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  say  that  a  miner  was  a  slave,"  re 
plied  Raymond.  "  I  just  meant  that  a  man  who  is  con 
tent  to  swing  a  pick  in  a  mine  all  his  life  must  be  born 
and  bred  to  it." 

"Thank  God,  I  was  bred  to  the  hills,"  exclaimed 
Kelly,  "  and  have  no  fear  of  the  open!  Me  father  was 
a  bog-trotter,  but  there  must  have  been  somethin'  live 
stirrin'  at  his  heart,  for  he  pulled  out  at  twenty  and 
came  to  the  hills  of  Idaho." 

And  in  silence  the  two  men  looked  abroad  over  the 
valley  towards  the  dim  line  of  peaks  faintly  lit  by  the 
big,  silver-bright  moon. 

A  sentence  from  Richter  came  into  Raymond's  mind: 
4 'In  the  presence  of  beauty,  beneath  the  stars,  men 

149 


Hesper 

think  of  love,"  and  his  heart  ached  with  a  sense  of 
loss. 

Unconsciously,  in  spite  of  his  attempt  to  put  him 
self  away  from  her  presence,  Ann  had  come  to  dom 
inate  his  musing  hours.  At  thought  of  her  he  grew 
resolute  and  hopeful,  and,  reaching  forth  a  powerful 
hand,  grappled  the  air  as  if  it  were  the  throat  of  a 
hitherto  invincible  opponent,  and  said,  "I  will  win!" 
He  acknowledged  that  wealth  had  power  to  aid  him. 
"So  long  as  I  am  unknown  and  poor  and  in  disgrace 
she  can  only  consider  me  what  I  am — a  failure.  Money 
is  a  measure  of  value — and  wealth  I  must  have  first ; 
then  leisure  and  the  higher  life." 

So  while  Kelly  mused  sombrely  on  the  problems  of 
labor,  his  partner  looked  away  at  the  moonlit  peaks  and 
dreamed  of  one  small  woman's  face.  And  with  this 
secret  hope  his  hunger  grew  in  power 


XI 

Louis    Finds    Raymond 

ON  the  second  morning  after  his  meeting  with 
Dolan,  Raymond,  riding  down  the  trail  towards 
Bozle,  discovered  a  small  figure  toiling  towards  him, 
pausing  often  to  rest.  "It  can't  be  Louis,"  he  said, 
"and  yet  there's  something  familiar  in  that  walk.  The 
hat,  too,  is  of  exceeding  cleanliness — the  kind  he  would 
wear."  A  few  moments  later  the  climber  stopped, 
turned  his  back  to  the  hill,  and,  with  one  hand  resting 
on  his  hip,  looked  away  over  the  valley. 

"It  is  Louis!"  exclaimed  Raymond.  "And  he's  on 
my  trail." 

When  the  boy,  lifting  his  tired  head,  recognized  the 
rider,  he  uttered  a  fierce  shout  of  joy.  "Hah!  I've 
found  you!  Sammy  the  Sleuth  never  fails.  My  ears 
and  whiskers!  why  don't  you  live  in  the  moon?  This 
air  is  so  thin  I  can't  breathe—"  He  fairly  staggered 
with  weakness. 

Raymond  slid  from  his  horse  and  put  his  arm 
about  the  reeling  lad.  "  When  did  you  come  to 
camp?" 

Louis  leaned  against  his  big  friend.  "Oh,  I've  been 
here  a  week.  I  knew  you  were  here  somewhere,  but  I 
couldn't  get  track  of  you.  Don  was  over  here  yester 
day,  but  I  dodged  him,  and  he  went  back.  I  didn't 


Hesper 

sign  my  own  name  on  the  register."  He  grinned  slyly. 
"See  my  boots — aren't  they  right?" 

Raymond  looked  down  at  the  boy's  small  legs  clothed 
with  miner's  laced  boots.  "You  believe  in  dressing 
the  part — don't  you?  You  are  a  kidlet."  He  laughed 
at  the  boy's  chapfallen  look  (for  Louis  detested  being 
called  a  boy),  and  added:  "Well,  what  now?  Does 
your  sister  know  where  you  are?" 

"No." 

Raymond's  whole  expression  changed.  "  Climb  that 
horse!"  he  said,  sternly.  "You're  going  back  to  town, 
and  you're  going  to  send  her  a  telegram  at  once." 

The  boy  obeyed,  stunned  by  the  sudden  disgust  and 
anger  in  his  friend's  face  and  voice. 

As  he  led  the  horse  down  the  hill,  Raymond  com 
prehended  something  of  the  anxiety  the  runaway  had 
brought  to  Ann,  and  that  he,  indirectly,  was  the  cause 
of  it,  but  at  the  door  of  the  office  he  said,  more  gently: 
"Now,  younker,  hop  off.  You're  going  to  send  word 
to  the  folks  that  you're  with  me  and  safe." 

"You're  not  going  to  drive  me  away?" 

Raymond  looked  at  him  in  silence.  "No.  I'm  go 
ing  to  put  you  to  work." 

The  boy's  face  threw  off  its  shadow.  "  That's 
bully!  Now  I'm  all  right.  Give  me  a  pen."  He 
wrote : 

"I  have  found  Rob.     We're  all  O.  K.     Don't  worry. 

"Louis." 

As  he  handed  it  over  he  said,  gayly,  "Will  that  do?" 
"That's  satisfactory.     Now  rush  it." 
As  they  walked  out,  Raymond  sternly  asked:  "Want 
to  stay  with  me,   do  you?     Well,   everybody  works 

152 


Louis    Finds    Raymond 

where  I  live.  We  don't  allow  idlers.  If  you  had  some 
thing  to  do,  you'd  keep  out  o'  mischief." 

Louis  twisted, his  small  right  arm.  "I'm  ready  for 
anything." 

"Got  your  outfit — your  whole  kit?" 

"I've  got  one  camera  and  my  drawing  materials." 

"All  right,  I'll  find  something  for  you  to  fill  up  your 
spare  time  with." 

Raymond  packed  his  hand-bags  on  the  horse,  and 
together  they  set  out  up  the  trail.  At  first  the  lad  ex 
ulted  and  cried  out  like  a  blue-jay,  but  his  breathing 
grew  labored  as  they  rose,  and  at  last  Raymond  turned. 
"  Now,  sec  here,  Louis,  this  air  is  pretty  thin  till  a  fellow 
gets  used  to  it;  you'd  better  mount.  You'll  enjoy  the 
scenery  better." 

With  a  feeling  that  he  was  succumbing  to  an  unman 
ly  weakness,  Louis  clambered  to  the  horse's  back  and 
perched  among  his  possessions,  while  Raymond,  strid 
ing  ahead,  led  the  way  up  and  up,  till  the  whole  world 
seemed  coming  into  view.  "Oh,  this  is  fine!  Jupiter! 
this  is  the  place  for  me." 

He  was  unfeignedly  delighted  with  everything,  with 
the  new  shacks,  with  the  slab  tables  and  the  plank 
chairs,  and  with  the  liberal  and  smoking  dinner  which 
Mrs.  Kelly  provided;  but  he  drew  a  hissing  breath  of 
admiration  over  the  grand  figure  of  old  Matthew  Kelly. 
"  Gee!  but  you  are  a  wonder!  I  must  do  you." 

Kelly  was  puzzled  and  a  little  embarrassed  by  this 
outspoken  admiration,  and  regarded  Louis  with  defi 
nite  disfavor  till  he  presented  him  with  a  pencil-draw 
ing  of  the  lads  playing  on  the  doorstep,  and  then  he 
said:  "The  Lord  God  has  made  a  power  o'  people  that 
the  Kellys  have  not  seen ;  this  is  wan  of  them.  Now 


Hesper 

isn't  that  a  wonder?  He  put  the  whole  thing  together 
in  five  minutes."  Thereafter  he  accepted  the  boy  for 
the  cunning  that  lay  in  his  fingers. 

Raymond  wrote  that  night  to  Ann,  as  formally  as  the 
riot  in  his  brain  would  permit : 

"  I  planned  to  take  myself  out  of  your  life  as  completely 
as  if  I  were  dead,  but  Louis  would  not  have  it  so.  When 
I  met  him  on  the  hill  to-day,  and  he  told  me  how  long  he 
had  been  from  home,  I  determined  to  hustle  him  back  to 
the  Springs,  but  he  asked  to  stay  a  day  or  two,  and  here  he 
is.  Will  you  trust  him  with  me?  He  will  tire  of  it  here 
by-and-by  and  go  back  to  you  of  his  own  accord.  Just 
now  he  is  mad  over  the  life  and  the  scenery.  As  for  my 
self,  I  am  a  new  man,  with  new  aspirations.  They  may 
not  seem  very  high  to  you,  for  I  am  striving  now  to  ac 
quire  gold;  but  that  is  only  a  means  to  an  end.  There  is 
something  else  in  the  world  for  me  to  do.  I  don't  know 
what  it  is  to  be — perhaps  my  care  of  this  wonderful  boy  is 
a  part  of  it.  At  any  rate,  he  is  here,  and  not  to  be  driven 
away  without  great  risk  to  him  and  deep  pain  to  me.  So, 
unless  you  object,  I  shall  keep  him.  Our  life  is  rough,  but 
not  contaminating.  I  will  see  that  no  harm  comes  to 
him." 

There  was  nothing  more  personal  in  the  letter  than 
this,  but  Ann's  heart  warmed  to  the  writer  unaccount 
ably.  He  was  clean  and  manly — that  she  must  admit ; 
and  very  much  of  a  gentleman  considering  his  daily 
contact  with  gross  men.  And  yet  the  thought  of  Louis 
in  a  mining-camp  troubled  her.  "I  ought  to  go  and 
fetch  him  away,"  she  said  to  Don. 

"  No !  No !  You  remain  here,  and  I  will  go  over  and 
see  the  little  scamp  and  bring  him  back  if  possible." 

The  next  morning  Raymond  put  into  action  a  meas- 


Louis    Finds    Raymond 

ure  he  had  formulated  during  the  night.  He  called 
Louis  to  him,  and  together  they  ascended  the  "Look 
out,"  as  Kelly  called  the  ledge  back  of  his  cabin.  The 
wind  was  keen  as  a  brier,  but  the  sun  shone  full,  and, 
sheltered  by  some  low-growing  firs,  the  man  and  boy 
took  seats  on  an  overhanging  rock  and  looked  away 
across  the  valley  to  the  south. 

"Isn't  it  magnificent!"  breathed  Louis.  "  It's  grand 
er  than  I  ever  imagined;  but,  oh,  I  long  to  see  what  lies 
over  that  big  range!  That  must  be  father's  *  Hes- 
perean  wall';  don't  you  think  so?  It  makes  me  want 
to  fly  like  the  eagle." 

Raymond  brought  him  to  earth.     "See  here,  lad, 
I've  brought  you  up  here  to  ask  you  a  few  questions." 
Louis  braced  himself.     "Fire  away!" 
"As  I  understand  it,  you  and — Ann  are  alone  in  the 
world — I  mean  you  are  closer  to  each  other  than  to  any 
one  else — she's  your  best  friend." 

The  boy  sobered.  "Yes,  Ann's  good  to  me." 
"Well,  now,  she's  taking  a  whole  lot  of  trouble  for 
you,  and  you  ought  to  meet  her  half-way.  Don't  you 
think  so?  You  oughtn't  to  go  ricocheting  off  into  the 
hills  like  this  without  letting  her  know.  Think  how 
she  has  worried  over  you  for  the  past  week." 

Louis'  lips  quivered.  "I  didn't  intend  to  worry  her, 
but  I  hated  it  there,  and  I  wanted  to  find  you.  I  didn't 
intend  to  stay  so  long." 

"You've  given  her  a  great  deal  of  anxiety,  my  lad, 
and  that  isn't  right.  You  must  go  straight  back  to 
her  and  apologize,  and  ask  her  permission  to  come  back. 
If  she  consents,  then  I'll  make  a  place  for  you  here." 
"She  won't  consent.  I'd  have  to  run  away  again; 
and  I'd  do  it!"  he  added,  defiantly. 


Hesper 

"Well,  that  would  be  better  than  running  off  without 
letting  her  know.  Suppose  something  had  happened 
to  her,  or  to  you,  while  you  were  gone  ?  Did  you  think 
of  that?" 

Tears  were  in  the  boy's  eyes,  and  his  sensitive  face 
was  palpitant  with  feeling  as  he  replied,  "  No,  I  didn't." 

Raymond,  after  a  pause,  slowly  resumed:  "Now  I 
want  to  make  a  compact  with  you.  If  you'll  go  down 
and  see  her,  I  will  write  a  letter  interceding  for  you, 
and  asking  her  to  let  you  return." 

The  lad's  face  was  suddenly  illuminated.  He  threw 
out  his  small  palm.  "I'll  do  it!"  he  cried  out,  and  his 
tone  carried  conviction. 

Raymond  continued.  "You  like  me,  and  I  like  you. 
You  can't  live  in  the  Springs,  and  your  sister  can't  live 
here.  So  it  seems  that  I  must  be  your  big  brother, 
and  look  after  you.  And  hark  ye!  You  must  mind 
what  I  say,  or  I'll  take  a  birch  to  you." 

This  threat  seemed  not  to  appall  the  boy.  "Can  I 
work  in  the  mine?" 

"  No,  you  can't  work  in  the  mine,  but  I'll  find  some 
thing  on  top  for  you  to  do.  You  must  take  care  of 
those  lungs  of  yours  for  a  while;  but  come,  let's  see 
if  we  can't  catch  the  stage." 

"Oh,  let  me  stay  till  to-morrow!"  pleaded  the  boy. 
"I  don't  want  to  go  to-day.  It's  too  beautiful  to 
miss." 

Raymond  reflected  a  moment .  ' '  Very  well ,  but  y ou '  11 
want  that  stage-ride.  It's  one  of  the  finest  roads  in  the 
mountains.  You  rattle  down  the  canon  to-morrow, 
sure  thing;  remember  that!" 

Together  they  went  down  towards  the  mine  where  a 
group  of  men  were  building  a  log -cabin.  "Here  is 

156 


Louis    Finds    Raymond 

where  we  are  to  live,  provided  your  sister  consents," 
Raymond  explained.  "  Now,  throw  off  your  coat,  and 
I'll  find  something  for  you  to  turn  over." 

Thereafter  Louis  had  no  care.  He  handled  tools, 
ran  errands,  and  put  his  small  palms  to  the  rough  logs 
with  complete  absorption,  pausing  only  now  and  then 
to  say,  "Jupiter,  but  I'm  in  luck!  I  never  expected  to 
see  a  real  log-house  built."  There  was  something  in 
the  pungent  odor  of  the  timber,  and  in  the  sound  of 
the  axes,  which  moved  him  —  something  he  could 
neither  understand  nor  measure.  It  was  like  the  march 
of  a  great  poem. 

Kelly  was  the  master  -  builder,  and  the  flash  and 
stroke  of  his  axe,  and  his  deft,  yet  unhurried,  graceful 
movements  won  the  lad's  profound  admiration.  He 
was  humble  as  a  squirrel  before  men  of  that  mould. 
They  represented  the  unattainable,  the  majesty  of  self- 
poised,  self-reliant,  serene  manhood.  Altogether  it  was 
a  glorious  day,  one  never  to  be  forgotten. 

Barnett  came  riding  up  the  hill  about  sundown,  and 
immediately  at  sight  of  Louis  began  a  jocose  tirade. 
"You  scamp!  You  young  flyaway!  A  nice  inter 
lude  you've  given  us.  Ann  hadn't  slept  a  wink  for  a 
week  till  she  got  your  message  yesterday.  How  long 
have  you  been  here?" 

Raymond  hastened  to  say,  "I  induced  him  to  wire 
as  soon  as  he  turned  up." 

"Had  you  been  here  all  the  time,  you  young  rattle- 
pate?" 

Louis  was  not  afraid  of  Barnett.  "Yes,  I  was  down 
there  looking  for  Rob."  He  pointed  towards  the 
town  of  Bozle. 

"Well,  I'm  to  bring  you  home — instantly!" 
157 


Hesper 

Louis  took  shelter  behind  Raymond.  "  No,  you  don't. 
Tell  him,  Rob." 

Raymond  winked  at  Barnett.  "  He's  going  to-mor 
row,  on  a  promise  to  me,  Don.  I've  made  a  bargain 
with  him.  He  can  tell  you  about  it  on  the  way. 
Moreover,  he  is  going  by  stage.  He's  on  honor." 

When  they  were  alone  Barnett  said:  ''The  most  un 
accountable  of  all  things  is  the  human  heart.  That  boy 
is  crazy  about  you.  Now,  I  like  you,  Rob,  and  I  think 
you're  a  fine  figure  of  a  man,  but  this  boy  considers  you 
something  quite  supernatural.  He  is  willing  to  leave 
his  sister,  the  only  real  mother  he  ever  had,  and  cleave 
to  you.  You're  in  for  it.  I  don't  see  how  you  can 
shake  him." 

"It's  a  big  responsibility,"  replied  Raymond,  grave 
ly,  "and  I  would  shirk  it  if  I  could,  but  for  the  present 
I  can  only  hope  his  enthusiasm  will  flag.  He'll  get 
tired  of  it  up  here  after  a  week  or  two." 

"I  hope  so,  for  Ann's  sake.  She  was  as  near  upset 
as  I  ever  saw  her.  Did  he  tell  you  that  the  rupture 
came  from  his  idea  that  she  had  mistreated  you?" 

Raymond  faced  him.     "No;  not  a  word." 

"Well,  Jeannette  heard  him  shout  something  of  that 
kind.  Ann  don't  want  to  use  force  to  control  the 
boy,  but  now  that  he  has  tasted  wild  West  freedom, 
he  won't  listen  to  any  word  of  return,  and  as  she  hates 
the  West  and  all  it  contains  —  barring  the  Barnett s, 
whom  she  tolerates — I  see  nothing  but  squalls  coming. 
She  wanted  to  scuttle  up  and  get  the  boy  herself,  but  I 
headed  her  off.  By-the-way,  how's  the  lung?" 

"Almost  as  good  as  ever." 

"Your  constitution  is  a  wonder.  And  the  mining 
deal?" 

158 


Louis    Finds    Raymond 

"Very  promising." 

In  the  talk  that  followed,  Raymond  learned  for  the 
first  time  of  the  proposed  consolidation  of  the  Red 
Star  with  two  or  three  other  heavy  properties,  and 
they  fell  into  a  discussion  of  the  camp. 

"If  I  had  my  way,"  said  Barnett,  "I'd  have  this 
meddling  idiot  Larned  thrown  out  of  the  camp.  What 
business  has  he  here  ?  He's  a  rank  outsider,  any 
way,  and  this  union  is  a  breeder  of  war." 

Raymond  raised  a  warning  hand.  "Careful,  Don! 
It  don't  do  for  you  to  say  such  things  up  here.  This 
union  has  come  to  stay,  and  you  who  employ  labor  will 
do  well  to  treat  it  with  a  certain  measure  of  respect." 

"But  you're  an  employer,  too!" 

Raymond  laughed.  "Oh,  my  little  crew  don't 
Count ;  they're  all  prospectors  or  cow-boys,  and,  besides, 
I  work  right  with  them,  and  am  classed  as  a  working 
miner.  Your  case  is  different." 

Barnett  went  away  calmly  superior,  but  came  back 
from  a  conference  with  Mackay,  the  superintendent  of 
the  Red  Star,  less  haughty  of  manner  but  distinctly 
more  acrid  of  tone.  "Mackay  says  this  confounded 
union  is  growing  rapidly,  and  that  practically  every 
incoming  miner  joins  at  once.  I  told  him  to  nip  the 
thing  in  the  bud,  and  he  has  begun  to  formulate  a 
plan  to  do  so." 

"Wait  a  year,"  warned  Raymond.  "Wait  till  I  pay 
for  my  irtine."  Then  added,  soberly:  "And  don't  you 
go  about  saying  rash  things.  You're  not  dressed  for 
it.  You  look  like  one  of  those  'English  dudes'  the 
men  hate  so." 

Barnett's  sense  of  humor  returned.  "I  suppose  my 
riding-breeches  do  distinguish  me." 

159 


Hesper 

"  I  wouldn't  wear  them  through  the  street  on  Satur 
day  night  for  a  thousand  dollars." 

That  night,  as  Louis  sat  before  the  fire  in  the  centre 
of  the  unfinished  cabin,  his  face  shone  with  joy,  and 
the  heart  of  the  tall  miner  grew  very  tender  towards 
him.  It  was  good  to  have  this  gay  young  brother  of 
his  love  to  keep  him  company.  A  new  sensation  arose 
from  having  some  one  to  plan  for  and  to  protect. 

The  dreaming  lad,  outstretched  on  a  pile  of  blankets, 
with  his  hands  under  his  head  and  his  small  feet, 
clothed  in  moccasins,  extended  to  the  blaze,  sud 
denly  turned  and  said:  "Rob,  this  is  the  kind  of  life 
for  me.  Wouldn't  father  have  liked  this?  I'd  be 
perfectly  happy  if  I  didn't  have  to  pack  off  down 
the  hill  to-morrow.  Why  couldn't  Ann  come  up 
here?" 

A  flash  of  warm  blood  crossed  the  man's  face  at  the 
thought.  "I  wish  she  could!"  he  answered,  quickly; 
then  added,  "  But  this  is  no  place  for  her." 

It  certainly  was  not,  for  at  the  moment  the  cabin  was 
merely  a  stockade  of  freshly  hewn,  pungent  pine-boles, 
without  roof  or  floor;  though  the  promise  of  a  goodly 
shelter  spoke  from  the  ample  plan.  With  the  stirring 
of  some  subtle,  nest -making  instinct,  Raymond  began 
to  wonder  how  it  could  be  made  more  acceptable  to 
Ann.  He  imagined  big  settees  here  and  a  fireplace 
there.  "We  must  have  some  rugs,"  he  ended. 

When  the  boy  spoke  again,  his  voice  was  grave  and 
sweet.  "If  you  won't  tell,  I'll  let  you  into  a  secret, 
Rob.  I'm  going  to  have  father's  journal  printed,  and 
I'm  going  to  make  the  illustrations  for  it.  You  mustn't 
tell  Ann.  She  don't  know  a  word  about  it." 

Raymond  looked  upon  the  frail  form  and  speaking 

1 60 


Louis    Finds    Raymond 

face  flushed  with  the  fire  -  light  glow  and  wondered 
whether  Philip  Rupert's  emotional  concept  of  the  West 
had  not  by  some  mysterious  alchemy  entered  into  his 
son's  brain,  making  him  the  imaginative,  mountain- 
loving  poet-soul  that  he  was ;  as  widely  differentiated 
from  his  sister  as  the  flame  of  the  ruby  is  from  the 
frosty  light  of  the  diamond.  When  he  spoke  it  was  to 
say,  hesitatingly,  "Maybe,  by-and-by,  when  we  get  our 
cabin  fixed  up,  we  will  ask  your  sister  and  Mrs.  Barnett 
to  come  up  and  visit  us." 

Louis  started  up.  "Oh,  will  you?  If  Ann  were 
here,  I  would  never  want  to  go  back  East  again — never! 
I  could  live  here  always." 

How  about  the  wild  animals  ?     There  are  no  griz 
zlies  here." 

"Oh,  I'm  going  to  do  a  series  of  mining  sketches 
first,"  he  said,  with  easy  shift  of  interest. 

A  foot  outside  disturbed  Raymond,  and  a  man's 
voice  called,  "Is  Rob  Raymond  here?" 

In  the  unfinished  doorway  stood  a  graceful  young 
fellow  in  a  white  sombrero  and  a  neatly  fitting,  dark 
suit.  "Jack  Munro!"  exclaimed  Raymond,  and  they 
shook  hands.  "Sit  down.  This  is  a  boy  friend  of 
mine  from  the  Springs,"  he  said,  indicating  Louis. 
"  What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"Nothing,  old  man;  just  lined  you  out  to-day.  I 
heard  that  a  man  named  Raymond  had  taken  a  lease 
with  Kelly,  but  I  didn't  know  it  was  you  till  I  saw  you 
with  Barnett  to-day.  Well,  this  is  wonderful!  Where 
you  from  ?  What  have  you  been  doing  since  we — grad 
uated?"  There  was  something  in  his  voice  that  eluded 
Louis.  Raymond  gave  Munro  a  warning  glance. 

"Oh,  a  little  of  everything — cattle-ranching,  hunt- 
"  161 


Hesper 

ing,  mining.     I   saw  you  last  night  in  Hanley's  sa 
loon." 

"Why  didn't  you  speak  up?" 

Raymond  hesitated.   "  I  didn't  know  whether  you — " 

"Oh,  rats!  I'm  not  one  to  dodge.  What  did  getting 
fired  amount  to,  anyway?  I  was  ready  to  leave." 

Raymond  repeated  his  warning  sign.  "Have  you 
been  back — home?" 

Munro  smiled  broadly.  "You  bet!  I  went  back 
and  swelled  around  in  high  feathers — told  my  side  of 
the  story — understand?  I  didn't  let  the  institution  get 
the  drop  on  me;  but,  see  here,  come  up  to  the  saloon; 
I  want  to  talk  things  over  with  you.  The  boys  are 
bound  to  make  me  take  a  hand  in  this  union."  He 
winked  and  laughed  in  a  sly  way.  "I  stand  in  with 
the  lads  these  days.  First  thing  you  know,  I'll  break 
into  Congress  as  the  miners'  friend.  But  come  out 
for  a  walk.  I  want  to  talk  old  times." 

" Can't  do  it  now,  Jack;  but  come  down  again.  Louis 
is  going  back  to-morrow,  and  I'll  be  alone  for  a  day  or 
two,  and  then  we  can  talk  freely." 

"All  right.  There  are  a  whole  lot  of  things  I  want 
to  turn  over.  By  the  Lord!  this  is  wonderful — our 
meeting  up  here."  He  was  reluctant  to  go.  "You 
bring  up  the  old  days.  Well,  so  long." 

When  Raymond  returned  to  his  seat  his  face  was 
grave  and  his  eyes  deeply  reflective. 

Louis  was  much  interested  in  the  stranger.  "Who 
was  that,  Rob?" 

"A  chap  I  used  to  know.  He's  a  lookout  up  in  one 
of  the  saloons.  Do  you  know  what  a  lookout  is?" 

Louis  laughed.  "Do  I?  What  was  I  doing  all  last 
week?" 

162 


Louis    Finds    Raymond 

Raymond  looked  at  him  in  mock  sternness.  "You 
young  scalawag!  Did  you  lose  any  money?" 

It  was  like  living  a  chapter  out  of  a  story  to  go 
to  bed  there  on  the  chips  and  branches  of  the  pine- 
trees  (with  the  smoke  of  the  fire  rising  through  the 
cross-beams  of  the  skeleton  cabin),  to  see  the  stars 
wheel  slowly  past,  and  to  fall  asleep  at  last  with  a 
sense  of  following  in  the  footsteps  of  a  beloved  father; 
and  the  boy's  heart  went  out  with  growing  love  towards 
the  masterful  young  man  who  still  sat  smoking  his  pipe 
before  the  flame,  meditative  as  a  Cheyenne  and  as  self- 
contained. 

When  he  woke,  Rob  was  fanning  the  coals,  and  Kelly, 
scrutinizing  the  walls  of  the  cabin,  was  planning  the 
day's  work. 

Catching  the  boy's  eye,  he  called  out,  "Come,  now, 
Mr.  Boss-carpenter,  breakfast  is  waiting." 

Stiff  and  sore,  but  happy,  the  boy  leaped  to  his  feet, 
yawning  and  stretching.  "Oh,  my  shoulders!" 

"Aha!"  cried  Kelly,  "the  frost  got  into  your  bones 
the  night.  Well,  come  now,  the  coffee  is  the  cure 
for  that." 

After  breakfast,  notwithstanding  his  pleading  to  re 
main  to  finish  the  cabin,  Raymond  hurried  Louis  off 
down  the  canon  to  the  stage,  and  in  his  letter  to  Ann 
repeated  his  pledge  to  look  carefully  after  the  boy's 
health  and  to  keep  him  out  of  mischief.  "I  hope  you 
won't  miss  him  too  deeply,  for  he  adds  something  very 
sweet  to  my  life.  I  have  never  known  his  like.  I 
am  sending  for  some  books  so  that  we  can  do  a  little 
reading  together.  I  don't  want  to  seem  only  a  rough 
old  gold-hunter  in  his  eyes." 

Louis  arrived  at  the  Springs  fairly  hysterical  with 
163 


Hesper 

joy  over  his  wonderful  day's  ride,  and  set  about  to  de 
scribe  Sky-Town.  He  sketched  with  swift  pencil  Ray 
mond's  shack  and  the  Kelly  home.  He  outlined  the 
butte  behind  it,  and  indicated,  with  a  few  waving  lines, 
the  great  ranges  to  the  west.  He  stammered  with 
eagerness  of  description.  "It  isn't  a  bit  like  Switzer 
land — no  chalets  or  hay -meadows — it's  just  big  and 
primeval,  and  the  men  there  have  come  from  all  over 
the  world.  It's  settled  I'm  to  live  with  Rob,  and  I'm 
to  take  back  all  my  traps  and  some  rugs  and  a  few 
extra  pillows.  We're  going  to  have  a  fine  place — a 
regular  bungalow — and,  by-and-by,  you're  to  come  up 
and  visit  us." 

It  was  impossible  to  be  angry  with  the  boy  when  this 
lyrical  mood  was  upon  him,  and  Ann  forgot  to  utter 
the  reproof  she  had  formulated.  Indeed,  she  was  too 
happy  over  their  reconciliation  to  even  allude  to  the 
sorrow  he  had  given  her. 

His  absence  had  been  a  revelation  of  his  value  to  her. 
She  had  not  realized  up  to  that  moment  how  deeply  his 
care  was  woven  into  her  daily  life.  It  was  jealousy  of 
Raymond's  power — an  acrid  juice — which  had  turned 
her  pity  for  him,  while  wounded  and  helpless,  into  re 
sentment  ;  and  now  that  he  was  well  and  triumphantly 
drawing  the  boy  to  his  side,  her  heart  was  bitter  with 
hatred,  but  she  gave  her  consent  to  Louis'  return  be 
cause  she  dared  not  do  otherwise,  and  in  a  letter  to 
Raymond  she  said: 

"I  resign  Louis  into  your  hands,  because  his  happiness 
is  more  than  my  own,  and  because  he  no  longer  regards 
my  wishes.  I  have  heard  much  of  the  gambling  and 
drinking  of  mining-camps.  I  beg  of  you  to  guard  him. 
He  is  so  fine  and  sweet  now,  and  defilement  is  so  easy." 

164 


Louis    Finds    Raymond 

Upon  reading  this  letter  the  camp  suddenly  became 
a  dark  and  dangerous  place  to  the  young  miner.  Look 
ing  upon  it  with  Ann's  eyes,  its  ferocities  and  its  shame- 
lessnesses  advanced,  became  appallingly  salient.  Ac 
customed  to  the  rough  types  of  Western  towns,  he  had 
paid  very  little  attention  to  the  drunkenness,  gam 
bling,  and  disorder  of  the  drinking  -  places.  Their 
noise  was  as  the  wind  in  the  fir-trees,  but  now  he  be 
came  impatient  of  every  jest  and  uneasy  over  every 
open  lure  put  forth  for  such  as  Louis,  and  the  coarse 
ness  of  even  the  reputable  miners  began  to  remove 
them  from  his  sympathies.  He  found  it  harder  to 
make  excuse  for  profanity  and  foul  jests,  and  he  went 
less  and  less  among  them,  and  spent  more  of  his  time 
with  the  lad,  watching  him  draw  or  listening  to  him 
while  he  read. 

Their  cabin  became  the  centre  of  the  finer  spirits  of 
the  camp.  Dolan  and  one  or  two  of  his  friends  often 
came  in  of  an  evening  to  smoke  a  pipe  and  play  a 
friendly  game  of  cards.  "A  visit  to  the  bungalow  al 
ways  pays,"  said  one  young  fellow  whose  weakness  was 
drink.  ' '  They  send  a  fellow  away  feeling  respectable. ' ' 

Mrs.  Kelly  supervised  the  housekeeping  as  well  as 
she  could,  and  the  place  was  at  least  warm  and  cheer 
ful.  Once  a  fortnight  Louis  rode  down  the  trail  to 
spend  Sunday  with  Ann,  but  Raymond  steadily  re 
fused  to  join  him,  though  he  suffered  keenly  of  lone 
liness. 

"I  am  a  miner  now,"  he  said.  "I've  taken  myself 
out  of  that  life."  And  Louis  did  not  know  when  he 
carried  these  words  to  his  sister  that  they  conveyed  a 
deeper  meaning.  Ann  was  aware  that  Raymond  was 
holding  aloof  from  her,  and,  while  she  respected  him  for 

165 


Hesper 

his  consideration,  she  was,  after  all,  a  woman,  and  re 
sented  his  self-mastery  a  little.  It  touched  her  pride 
to  think  he  could  so  easily  put  her  out  of  his  life, 
when,  so  far  from  losing  ground  with  her,  he  filled  a 
larger  space  each  week;  but  this,  she  argued,  was  due 
to  Louis'  absurd  infatuation,  and  not  to  any  quality, 
any  allurement  in  the  man  himself. 

Meanwhile  she  was  beginning  to  be  bored  to  hope 
lessness  by  the  narrow  life  at  the  Springs,  under  con 
ditions  which  seemed  to  the  outsider  ideally  beautiful. 
Surrounded  by  luxuries  of  food  and  dress,  with  a  superb 
and  ever-changing  mountain  vista,  she  grew  restless, 
irritable,  and  moody,  and  horribly  critical  of  every  one 
she  met.  Had  not  Don  been  secure  in  good-nature, 
and  Jeannette  in  long-suffering  patience,  they  would 
have  thrown  her  upon  the  street  in  disgust. 

It  was  a  small  world,  considered  from  the  social 
point  of  view,  and  that  was  the  only  view  Ann's  cir 
cumstances  permitted  her  to  take.  She  knew,  or  at 
least  had  the  opportunity  of  knowing,  all  about  every 
one.  The  newly  enriched  were  pointed  out  to  her,  and 
some  of  the  more  eligible  of  them  were  invited  to  din 
ner  in  order  that  she  might  hear  their  story  of  how 
sudden  wealth  had  come  to  them,  and  see  for  herself 
how  they  bore  themselves  beneath  their  burden.  It 
seemed  that  nearly  every  house  on  the  avenue  was 
built  from  the  gold  of  Sky -Town. 

Louis  came  down  once  a  week,  each  time  browner, 
more  manly  in  bearing — almost  comical  in  his  assump 
tion  of  the  Kelly's  walk  and  Raymond's  impassive 
face.  He  always  had  exciting  tales  to  tell,  and  seemed 
so  entirely  happy  and  so  well  that  Ann  had  not  the 
heart  to  ask  him  to  return  to  the  East  with  her.  She 

166 


Louis    Finds    Raymond 

even  found  herself  listening  with  interest  to  his  account 
of  the  doings  of  his  heroes,  for  he  had  placed  Matthew 
Kelly  on  the  same  pedestal  with  Robert. 

Mrs.  Barnett  responded  graciously  to  his  invitation 
to  come  up  and  see  the  peak,  but  explained  that  the 
high  altitude  was  destructive  to  her;  and  Ann  shrank 
from  meeting  Raymond  again,  though  she  expressed 
to  him  in  a  letter  a  tepid  sort  of  gratitude  for  his  care 
of  her  brother. 


XII 
Ann    Visits    the    Peak 

ONE  day  Barnett  telephoned  to  his  wife  that  he 
would  not  take  luncheon  at  home.     There  was 
nothing  unusual  in  the  words  of  this  announcement, 
but  Jeannette's  keen  ear  detected  restrained  excite 
ment  in  his  calm  drawl. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  asked,  quickly. 

"  Nothing,  my  dear.     Nothing,"  he  glibly  responded. 

"Don  Barnett,  I  know  better  Tell  me  this  in 
stant!" 

He  was  in  for  it.  "Well,  Mr.  Mackay,  our  superin 
tendent,  was  tarred  and  ridden  on  a  rail  by  the  miners 
this  morning — " 

"Gracious  heavens!" 

"And  I'm  getting  off  up  the  stage -road  to  meet 
him." 

"What  did  they  do  it  for?" 

"  Oh,  it's  the  same  old  business.  The  men  didn't  like 
some  regulation  of  his  and  struck,  and — but  it's  a  long 
story;  I  won't  go  into  it  now.  I'll  get  back  in  time  for 
dinner,  probably." 

"For  pity  sake,  don't  go  into  danger!" 

"Trust  me,"  he  answered,  with  his  familiar,  mocking 
intonation. 

"  Oh,  those  savages!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Barnett  to  Ann 
168 


Ann    Visits    the    Peak 

as  she  hung  up  the  receiver;  "they're  always  striking 
or  fighting  or  something." 

In  an  hour  Millionaire  Row  was  humming  with  news 
of  the  outrage.  Reports,  confused,  conflicting,  flew 
along  the  wires  east  and  west,  and  the  afternoon  papers 
were  filled  with  dramatic  details  of  the  opening  of  a  big 
strike  in  Sky-Town,  and  the  story  of  how  the  union 
leaders  had  mishandled  Mackay,  the  superintendent  of 
the  Red  Star  Mining  Corporation. 

All  this  would  have  interested  Ann  very  little  had 
not  her  brother  been  in  the  midst  of  the  disorder. 
She  immediately  wired  him  to  come  down,  and  got 
a  reply  from  Raymond  saying,  "  Louis  is  on  the  way- 
no  danger,"  and  the  boy  himself  came  riding  into 
the  yard  at  dusk,  serene  and  jaunty,  well  pleased 
with  his  trip  down  the  canon  with  the  infuriated 
members  of  Mackay's  party  which  he  had  over- 
taken 

"They  didn't  hurt  him  much,"  he  explained,  re 
ferring  to  Mackay.  "  You  see,  the  boys  don't  like  his 
style,  and  so  they  gave  him  a  little  jolt." 

Raymond's  letter  to  Barnett  took  a  much  more  seri 
ous  view  of  the  situation: 

"I  don't  think  Mackay  the  proper  man  to  attempt  to 
reorganize  the  working  hours  of  this  camp.  Don't  try  to 
put  him  back,  and  don't  make  too  much  of  this  little  affair. 
The  whole  camp  is  uneasy  at  this  time.  The  union  is 
getting  very  strong  and  likely  to  make  it  hot  for  mde 
pendents  like  Kelly  and  myself." 

"What  is  it  all  about?"  asked  Jeannette. 
Don  looked  bored.     "Oh,  really  now,  don't  ask  me 
to  go  into  the  cause  of  a  strike.     A  woman  never  un- 

169 


Hesper 

derstands  such  a  situation.     However,  here  is  what 
Rob  says: 

"Mackay  posted  his  notices  Saturday  night,  putting 
the  new  nine-hour  schedule  into  effect  Monday  morning. 
Sunday  the  camp  boiled.  The  union  put  forth  its  decree, 
and  of  course  at  the  morning  hour  a  big  crowd  gathered  to 
see  Mackay  face  his  men.  He  came  riding  up  (the  jack 
ass!)  in  tan-colored  English  riding-breeches  and  a  little 
two  billed  gray  cap — you  know  the  kind.  Of  course  they 
hooted  him,  and  headed  his  horse  back  down  the  slope. 
He  was  red-headed,  naturally,  and,  being  a  double-distilled 
idiot,  hired  a  couple  of  desperadoes  from  Bozle  as  guards 
and  came  back.  This  time  the  boys  jerked  him  and  his 
men  from  their  horses  and  hustled  them  down  the  canon 
at  the  boot-toe.  I  did  what  I  could  to  prevent  this,  but 
the  men  who  had  the  matter  in  charge  had  been  drinking, 
and  the  crowd  was  with  them.  My  men  are  not  in  the 
union,  but  I  hear  ominous  threats.  I  advise  you  not  to 
attempt  to  put  the  new  schedule  into  operation  at  the 
present  time.'" 

The  effect  on  the  valley  of  Mackay 's  recital  of  his 
maltreatment  was  most  wonderful.  The  principal 
mine-owners  of  the  Springs  met  to  discuss  their  cam 
paign.  In  a  thousand  Eastern  newspaper-offices  the 
click  of  the  recording  type  gave  permanent  form  to  a 
distorted  and  inflammatory  account  of  the  miner's 
words  and  deeds.  Mackay's  schedule  became  an  issue. 
The  press  took  sides,  playing  upon  partisan  passions. 
It  was  overalls  against  leg-o' -mutton  trousers;  puttees 
against  "chaps,"  and  few  saw  any  humor  in  the  situa 
tion. 

The  valley  called  for  the  blood  of  those  who  had 
dusted  the  sacred  person  of  their  representative,  and 

170 


Ann   Visits    the    Peak 

the  sheriff  was  ordered  to  arrest  and  bring  down  the 
insolent  "red-necks"  who  had  humbled^the  proud  and 
confident  Red  Star  superintendent.  "This  spirit  of 
lawlessness  must  be  checked,  or  it  will  run  into  riot," 
said  Barnett,  who  developed  unexpectedly  into  a  leader 
of  the  mine-owners  by  virtue  of  his  large  interests  in 
the  Red  Star. 

The  sheriff  valiantly  responded  to  the  call,  and  with 
a  half-dozen  deputies  marched  up  into  the  glittering 
mist  of  the  high  peaks,  and  came  down  again  empty- 
handed  and  sullen.  A  throng  of  men  had  met  him 
and  jocularly  asked,  "Why  so  high  above  the  plains?" 
"Don't  you  know  it's  bad  for  your  constitution?" 
"Heart-failure  often  comes  from  such  sudden  change 
of  base,"  they  said.  "  Go  right  back  this  minute!"  and 
one  young  man,  with  solemn  solicitude,  took  him  by  the 
arm  and  pointed  down  the  valley,  and  the  sheriff,  being 
wise  in  the  ways  of  such  characters,  bowed  and  retired. 

A  meeting  of  the  officers  of  the  Red  Star  and  allied 
companies  was  called,  Barnett  presiding;  most  reso 
lute  resolutions  were  passed.  Mackay  was  instructed 
to  press  his  demands  to  the  full.  Barnett  naturally 
opposed  a  conference  with  the  miners.  "Either  they 
come  to  our  terms  or  we  close  down  the  mines,"  he 
said.  "It  is  our  cue  to  be  firm  in  this  demand." 

"But  some  of  us  small  fellows  can't  afford  to  shut 
down,"  piped  out  a  timid  voice.  "Some  of  us  are 
working  under  bond,  and  we'll  be  wiped  out  by  a  pro 
longed  strike." 

"Well,  you  must  suffer  for  the  general  good,"  Barnett 
replied. 

The  sheriff,  who  had  been  invited  to  be  present  and 
tell  his  tale,  put  in  a  warning  word.  "There's  another 

171 


Hesper 

thing,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "and  that  is  this:  you're 
dealing  with  a  lot  of  free  miners  and  prospectors — men 
who  won't  be  driven  and  can't  be  scared.  If  it  had 
been  just  a  case  of  Micks  and  Dagoes,  I  would  have 
brought  'em  down;  but  they've  got  leaders  that  you 
can't  monkey  with.  When  Hob  Smith,  Denver  Dan, 
and  that  devil  Jack  Munro  met  me  with  their  holsters 
tied  down,  I  threw  up  my  hands.  You  are  from  the 
East,  where  things  are  different.  About  one-third  of  the 
men  on  the  peak  are  old  prospectors  and  free  miners, 
and  if  they  stay  by  the  proposition,  you've  got  to  take 
a  sneak  or  put  up  the  fight  of  the  age." 

"We  stand  pat,"  said  Barnett,  "and  we  shall  in 
sist  on  your  arresting  the  men  who  assaulted  Mr. 
Mackay." 

The  sheriff  made  an  elaborate  bow.  "  Right  you  are, 
Mr.  Barnett,  but  I'll  want  a  hundred  deputies  to  do  it 
with." 

"You  shall  have  them,"  replied  the  prominent  citi 
zens,  whose  blood  being  hot  were  ready  to  go  to  war — 
by  proxy,  at  least. 

Moving  with  such  secrecy  as  he  could,  the  sheriff  col 
lected  and  swore  in  some  ninety  men — the  boldest  and 
hardiest  to  be  found  in  all  the  towns  of  the  valley. 
They  were  not  sedate  and  considerate  citizens,  but  they 
were  brave,  or  at  least  reckless,  and,  without  exception, 
experienced  wearers  of  guns.  They  professed  them 
selves  quite  able  and  willing  to  bring  down  anybody  in 
the  hills.  After  being  armed  and  provisioned,  they 
were  to  be  sent  round  by  way  of  a  railroad  which  was 
building  towards  the  camp  from  the  south. 

Barnett  was  heedful  of  his  words  at  home,  and  made 
light  of  the  probable  opposition  of  the  miners,  but 

172 


Ann    Visits    the    Peak 

Louis,  with  a  boy's  ability  to  discern  what  was  going  on, 
soon  acquired  a  pretty  clear  idea  of  the  plan,  and  when 
Ann  asked  him  not  to  return  to  the  heights  on  Monday 
he  was  ominously  calm,  but  asserted  his  right  to  go 
where  he  pleased,  and  when  she  brought  Barnett's  in 
fluence  to  bear,  the  boy  became  white  and  resolved  and 
his  big  eyes  glowed. 

"  Rob  wants  me  and  needs  me,  and  I'm  going.  You 
can  put  me  in  jail,  but  that  is  the  only  way.  If  there  is 
going  to  be  war,  I  am  going  to  be  in  it,  and  I'm  going 
to  be  on  the  side  of  the  miners." 

Ann  wrote  a  swift  and  fervent  note  to  Raymond: 

"  I  am  intrusting  Louis  to  your  care  because  he  will  not 
stay.  You  have  won  his  heart  from  us,  and  we  are  power 
less  to  prevent  his  return.  Guard  him,  for  the  sake  of  his 
boyish  sweetness,  for  my  sake — " 

She  wrote  no  further,  for,  as  her  mind  dwelt  upon 
that  camp  of  ruffian  miners  and  their  desire  for  battle, 
a  bitter  resolution  swept  over  her.  "  I  will  test  his 
love  for  me."  With  cold  intensity  she  announced  her 
purpose.  "If  you  insist  on  going  back  to  that  camp, 
I  shall  go,  too." 

His  eyes  widened  in  protest.  "I  don't  want  you  to 
do  that — not  now." 

"  Now  is  the  time  you  need  me.  I  am  going  in  order 
to  keep  you  out  of  mischief." 

"You  mustn't  do  it.  There  is  no  place  for  you  to 
sleep." 

"No  matter;  it  is  my  duty.  As  you  will  not  stay 
with  me,  I  will  go  with  you.  I  came  here  for  your 
sake;  I  went  down  to  that  ranch  to  watch  over  you; 
I  am  staying  here  for  the  same  reason ;  and  now,  as  you 

173 


Hesper 

threaten  to  run  away,  I  know  where  you  are  going  and 
I  will  go  with  you." 

Listening  to  her  quiet  words,  the  boy  visibly  weak 
ened.  His  eyes  fell  and  his  lips  began  to  twitch  as  a 
sense  of  responsibility  awoke  in  him,  and  he  thought 
of  the  throngs  of  rough  men  and  the  possibility  of  riot 
with  a  new  emotion.  He  saw  his  sister  with  new  eyes. 
Her  beauty,  her  dainty  dress,  her  delicate  hands! — how 
out  of  place  she  would  be  in  Sky-Town ! 

"You  must  not  go,"  he  repeated.  "It's  no  place 
for  you." 

"It  is  no  place  for  you." 

He  asserted  himself  again.  "  I  can  take  care  of  my 
self." 

"Mr.  Raymond  has  asked  me  to  keep  you  here." 
She  went  to  him  and  put  her  arm  about  his  neck. 
"Stay  with  me,  laddie,  I  am  missing  you  these  days." 

In  the  end  she  seemed  to  prevail,  but  she  took  no 
pleasure  in  her  victory,  for  he  went  about  the  house 
like  a  young  eagle  pinioned.  Nothing  save  the  news 
of  the  camp  interested  him,  and  when  the  time  came 
for  the  sheriff  to  start  on  his  new  raid  he  became  greatly 
excited. 

" There's  going  to  be  a  battle,"  he  said  to  Ann.  "I'm 
going." 

"No!  No!"  she  pleaded. 

He  turned  upon  her  with  resentful  stamp  of  his  heel. 
"I  can't  stay  here  like  a  kid." 

She  changed  her  tone.  "Very  well;  when  shall  we 
start?" 

He  looked  at  her  steadily,  and  into  his  eyes  came  a 
softer  gleam.  "I've  just  thought,"  he  began,  reflec 
tively;  "you  can  stay  with  Mrs.  Kelly  till  we  build  a 

274 


Ann   Visits    the    Peak 

wing  for  you.  She's  a  nice  woman,  and  lives  in  the 
cunningest  little  log-cabin.  That  settles  it!  We  will 
go  right  away,  to-day!" 

Ann  was  at  a  loss,  but  did  not  show  it.  "If  you  are 
determined  to  go,  then  there  is  no  use  in  waiting.  Let 
us  start  at  once!" 

Louis  rushed  away  to  secure  a  team. 

Mrs.  Barnett  was  appalled  at  the  thought  of  Ann's 
going  to  live  on  the  peak.  "You  can't  do  it!  There 
are  a  thousand  reasons  why  you  shouldn't  think  of  it. 
First,  it's  terribly  high.  You  may  have  some  kind  of 
heart -trouble  without  knowing  it — people  often  do — 
and  the  altitude  is  sure  to  bring  it  out.  Then,  we  are 
filled  with  engagements  for  two  weeks;  and,  finally, 
where  can  you  stay?" 

"I'd  go  now  if  I  had  to  live  in  a  tent  or  a  cave.  I 
am  afraid  to  have  Louis  up  there  without  me.  Noth 
ing  will  keep  him  here  except  force,  and  I  can't  be  his 
jailer.  Perhaps,  when  he  sees  the  discomfort  to  which 
he  is  exposing  me,  he  will  relent.  I  should  never  have 
left  New  York  in  the  first  place,  but  now  that  he  is  here 
I  must  see  that  he  does  not  rush  into  danger." 

Barnett  came  hurrying  home,  his  face  showing  deep 
concern.  "You  can't  do  it,  that's  all,"  he  said  to  Ann. 
"The  sheriff  starts  to-night  with  a  big  posse  of  men  to 
go  into  the  camp  to  bring  down  some  of  its  chief  con 
spirators.  Say  the  word,  and  I  will  lock  the  young 
scamp  in  the  cellar." 

Ann  was  quite  calm.  "No,  I  am  going.  All  I  ask 
is  that  you  go  with  me  and  help  me  find  a  place  to  live. 
He  is  sure  I  can  stay  with  the  Kelly s,  whom  he  likes 
very  much.  Perhaps  I  will  enjoy  the  novelty  of  it." 

"  But  there  may  be  trouble!" 


Hesp 


er 


"All  the  more  reason  why  I  should  be  there.  Do 
you  suppose  I  could  sleep,  with  that  boy  up  there, 
crazily  poking  his  nose  into  every  street  brawl?" 

"Rob  will  take  care  of  him." 

"I  cannot  shift  my  responsibility  to  any  one  else," 
she  said,  firmly.  "  Father  asked  me  to  be  a  mother  to 
him,  and  I  am  doing  now  what  a  real  mother  would  do. 
He  will  tire  of  it  after  a  time  and  want  to  study  '  In 
juns,'  or  the  Grand  Canon,  or  something.  At  present 
he  cannot  be  hindered  from  his  will." 

And  so,  while  Mrs.  Barnett  suggested  what  to  wear, 
Don  ordered  a  carriage  to  take  them  to  the  train,  and 
Louis  saddled  his  horse  for  his  return  trip  up  the  stage- 
road.  "I'll  beat  you  up,"  he  shouted  to  Ann,  and  gal 
loped  away  with  shining  face. 

The  railway  which  ran  up  Bear  Canon  was  still  build 
ing,  and  had  not  yet  reached  the  divide,  so  that  a  stage- 
ride  of  some  twenty  miles  connected  the  town  of  Grand 
View  with  Sky-Camp.  Ann  and  Barnett  were  notice 
able  persons  in  the  car,  which  was  filled  with  roughly 
clad  workmen  of  all  kinds,  and  Barnett's  irreproachable 
sack  suit,  clear,  pink-and- white  complexion,  high,  glis 
tening  collar,  and  modest "  Darby  "  drew  many  a  thumb 
towards  him.  "See  that  English  dood,"  was  the  oft- 
muttered  remark  of  those  who  were  going  in  to  heave 
rocks  in  search  for  gold. 

Ann  was  conscious  of  their  admiration  of  her,  and  it 
deeply  annoyed  her.  Two  or  three  of  the  better- 
dressed  men,  who  were  on  speaking  acquaintance  with 
Barnett,  came  up  to  ask  him  what  he  thought  of  the 
strike. 

"I  didn't  know  it  was  a  strike,"  said  he,  ignoring 
their  evident  desire  to  be  introduced  to  Ann. 


Ann   Visits    the    Peak 

"Oh,  it's  a  strike,  all  right.  Your  man  Mackay 
wasn't  much  hurt,  was  he?" 

"Not  badly." 

"He  was  a  little  too  previous.  I  hope  the  sheriff 
won't  try  to  do  anything  more  about  it.  The  boys  up 
at  Sky  are  a  little  sharp-set  about  that  business.  Ain't 
goin'  up  there  yourself,  are  ye?" 

"Yes;  I've  always  been  on  good  terms  with  my  men. 
I  think  I  can  help  to  arrange  some  sort  of  a  compro 
mise." 

The  two  miners  looked  at  each  other.  At  length  the 
older  of  them  said,  in  a  tone  that  meant  a  good  deal 
to  ears  accustomed  to  Western  inflections:  "Well,  I 
reckon  the  whole  thing  has  been  exaggerated.  My 
claim  is  just  below  Bozle,  and  so,  of  course,  I  don't 
know  much  more  about  Sky  than  you  do.  Still,  I 
wouldn't  advise  your  going  in  at  this  time." 

There  were  three  other  women  in  the  car,  but  Ann 
was  not  reassured  by  their  presence.  Two  of  them 
were  hard-faced,  chittering  little  hussies,  and  the  third 
was  a  thin,  wan,  weary  Swedish  mother,  who  was  kept 
busy  securing  and  retaining,  one  by  one,  her  brood  of 
tow-headed  boys,  who  were  resolute  in  their  determina 
tion  to  ride  on  the  car-coupler  at  the  rear.  So,  while 
the  men  drew  Don  aside  for  still  more  confidential  talk, 
Ann  looked  out  of  the  window  at  the  frosty,  hard,  and 
glittering  landscape.  The  train  crawled  slowly,  pain 
fully,  like  an  overburdened  mule-team,  rising  rapidly, 
following  the  course  of  a  swift  stream,  which  not  even 
the  air  of  that  altitude  could  congeal.  It  was  a  vig 
orous,  clear-cut,  masculine  landscape,  inhospitable  to 
women. 

At  Grand  View  a  couple  of  stages  met  them,  and  as 
177 


Hesper 

Ann  waited  on  the  platform  for  Don  to  secure  a  car 
riage,  she  observed  that  on  the  seat  of  each  of  the 
coaches  two  guards  sat,  negligently  nursing  rifles  which 
glittered  in  the  sunlight.  There  was  something  sinis 
ter  in  this  —  or  would  have  been  could  she  have  rid 
herself  of  the  feeling  that  it  was  all  a  drama — that  the 
country  was  on  masquerade,  living  up  to  the  novelists 
and  their  illustrations.  She  realized  for  a  moment 
some  of  the  charm  which  it  had  for  Louis.  "  I  wish  he 
could  see  this,"  she  said  to  herself.  "It  would  make  a 
superb  picture." 

The  "alfalfa  miners"  were  stowing  their  bags  of 
clothing  and  rolls  of  blankets  into  the  compartment  be 
hind  the  big  coaches,  their  jocular  words  exploding  in 
the  thin  air  like  torpedoes.  The  coaches  swayed,  bat 
tered,  scarred,  and  covered  with  mud,  seemed  about  to 
be  crushed  flat  by  the  dingy-coated,  brawny  fellows  who 
crowded  the  inside  seats  to  the  last  inch  and  edged  the 
top  like  a  row  of  weather-worn  crows  on  a  wall.  Soon 
the  whips  began  to  crack,  and  the  coaches  rolled  away 
one  by  one,  leaving  Barnett  to  follow  in  a  road- wagon 
which  he  had  hired  for  their  own  especial  use. 

The  sun  was  sinking  to  mid-afternoon,  and  Mogalyon 
on  the  left  was  in  full  glory  of  ermine  and  saffron.  The 
air  was  keen  and  crisp,  the  sky  cloudless,  and  the  road, 
except  for  an  occasional  mud-hole,  was  very  good. 
Barnett  remarked,  "We  ought  to  pull  into  Bozle  before 
dark,  on  these  roads." 

"That's  right — we'd  ought  to,"  replied  the  driver, 
with  discouraged  inflection. 

Barnett  peered  a  little  closer  at  the  team.  "  Is  that 
the  best  you  could  give  me?" 

The  driver  was  apologetic.     "Well,  sir,  the  boss  got 


Ann    Visits    the    Peak 

drunk  the  other  day  and  put  'em  down  a  hill  too  fast 
and  lamed  the  gray." 

"So  I  see,"  Barnett  resignedly  replied.  The  stages 
were  soon  out  of  sight — ahead  of  them.  He  turned  to 
Ann.  "We  could  have  gone  in  the  coaches,  but  you  saw 
the  crowd.  It  wouldn't  have  been  pleasant  for  you." 

"Don't  worry  about  me,  Don.  I'm  not  afraid  of  the 
dark — with  you." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said.  "  It's  all  plain  sailing,  and  if 
you're  not  nervous  it  doesn't  trouble  me." 

Now  that  Ann  was  coming  closer  to  the  camp  and  its 
secrets,  she  began  to  desire  a  better  understanding  of 
them.  She  began  to  ask  questions,  but  Don,  with  a 
sign  of  silence,  indicated  the  driver,  and  so  her  ques 
tions  remained  unanswered. 

Night  came  abruptly.  A  thin,  gray  scum  rose  swiftly 
on  the  western  sky  and  suddenly  grayed  the  brightness 
of  the  sun.  The  world  grew  instantly  stern  and  cold. 
The  road,  after  climbing  a  ridge,  descended  into  a  gorge 
with  firs  on  either  side,  and  when  they  came  out  upon 
the  flat  meadow  to  the  northwest  of  Mogalyon  only  the 
lights  of  Sky-Town  could  be  seen.  The  hill  itself  was  a 
dim,  mysterious  mass  bulging  against  the  lesser  dark  of 
sky  out  of  which  the  larger  stars  faintly  shone.  It  re 
called  to  Ann  the  loom  of  New  York  against  the  eastern 
sky  as  she  last  saw  it  from  the  ferry.  This,  too,  was  a 
mountain  range — the  reality. 

At  the  moment  that  Don  was  pointing  out  the  lights, 
two  horsemen  appeared  in  front  and  in  the  middle  of 
the  road. 

"Halt!"  cried  a  clear  voice. 

The  driver  pulled  his  tired  horses  to  a  stand  so  en 
ergetically  that  his  hands  rose  above  his  head. 

179 


Hesper 

"Is  Donnelly  Barnett  with  you?"  asked  one  of  the 
men,  as  he  rode  nearer. 

"Darned  if  I  know,"  said  the  driver.  "I  got  some 
kind  of  a  valley  dood  here,  and  his  wife  or  something." 

"I'm  Barnett.  What  do  you  want  of  me?"  asked 
Don,  coolly. 

"Not  a  thing,"  answered  the  horseman.  "That's 
just  it.  We  have  no  use  for  you,  and  I've  been  watch 
ing  to  meet  you  and  say  that  the  boys  want  you  to  con 
tinue  your  quiet,  uneventful  life  at  the  Springs." 

"Who  are  you?" 

"We're  a  couple  of  Sky-Town  vedettes.  Who  is  the 
lady?" 

"That  doesn't  concern  you.     Go  on,  driver." 

The  driver  took  up  the  reins,  but  the  voice  of  the 
vedette  grew  sterner:  "Stay  where  you  are!"  Then, 
turning  to  Barnett:  "I'm  your  best  friend,  Donnelly. 
The  boys  understand  that  you  are  backing  Mackay  in 
his  plans,  and  it  isn't  safe  for  you  to  enter  the  camp. 
I  advise  you  to  turn  around  right  here  and  go  back." 

Barnett  laughed.  "Do  you  suppose  I'm  going  to 
take  advice  of  that  kind?" 

The  other  vedette  interrupted.  "Swat  him  in  the 
jaw;  he's  too  funny." 

Ann  spoke  up.  "Please  let  us  go  on.  Mr.  Barnett 
is  taking  me  in  to  meet  my  brother,  and  I  am  cold  and 
hungry." 

There  was  something  thrilling  in  the  calm,  clear 
sweetness  of  her  voice,  and  the  first  of  the  vedettes, 
pressing  nearer,  leaned  from  his  saddle  to  ask: 

"Who  is  your  brother,  lady?" 

"His  name  is  Louis  Rupert.  He  is  only  a  boy,  and 
I  am  going  in  to  care  for  him." 

180 


Ann    Visits    the    Peak 

"Rob  Raymond's  kid.  I  know  him,"  replied  the 
vedette.  "But  I  thought  he  was  visiting  you  in  the 
Springs?" 

"  He  was,  but  he  went  back  to  the  camp  to-day,  and 
I  am  very  anxious  about  him." 

"He's  all  right,  lady,  so  long  as  Rob  Raymond  has 
him  in  hand.  You  are  welcome,  but  Barnett  is  on  the 
outside  and  must  stay  there." 

"  I  decline  to  acknowledge  your  authority,"  respond 
ed  Barnett,  now  thoroughly  angry. 

The  horseman  laughed  softly,  irritatingly.  "Man 
ners  don't  go  with  us  at  the  present  time.  I  must  ask 
you  to  camp  right  here  or  go  back  to  Grand  View  till  I 
can  communicate  with  the  president  of  the  union.  If 
you  are  here  to  talk  compromise,  the  men  will  be  glad 
to  meet  you;  but  my  judgment  is  that  you  better  retire 
to  Grand  View.  I  will  see  that  this  lady  gets  to  her 
brother." 

Ann  was  not  a  timid  girl,  but  the  thought  of  riding 
away  into  the  blackness  of  the  night  with  these  sinis 
ter  guards  made  her  flesh  chill  and  her  nerves  creep. 
"  Don't  leave  me,  Don,"  she  whispered. 

Barnett  stormed  at  the  horsemen.  "  It  is  impossible ! 
If  I  am  forced  to  go  back  she  must  go  with  me.  What 
right  have  you  to  interfere  with  our  plans?" 

The  answer  came  quickly,  coldly,  every  word  telling. 
"I'll  tell  you.  The  boys  have  learned  that  you  have 
been  chiefly  instrumental  in  pushing  the  sheriff  into 
another  raid,  and  if  trouble  comes  they'll  kill  you.  It 
isn't  safe  for  you  to  be  on  the  hill  to-morrow.  Now 
you  needn't  be  afraid  to  trust  the  lady  to  me."  The 
vedette  removed  his  hat.  "I  am  not  a  man  to  be 
feared  by  women." 

181 


Hesper 

Ann  again  spoke.  "I  can't  consent  to  your  going 
into  danger  for  me,  Don.  Turn  back,  and  I  will  go 
on." 

''It  is  madness!"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "These 
men  are  not  fit  escorts  for  you.  We  will  both  go  back 
and  wait — until  morning." 

Ann's  teeth  were  chattering  with  cold.  "I  dread 
that  long  drive.  We  must  be  almost  at  our  destina 
tion." 

The  two  horsemen  conferred  together,  and  at  last 
one  of  them  returned  to  say:  ''Driver,  you  may  come 
on  until  you  reach  the  first  cabin  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 
There  the  lady  will  get  out,  and  you  will  drive  Mr.  Bar- 
nett  back  before  daylight  to-morrow  morning." 

The  driver  chirped  to  the  horses,  and  they  began  to 
plod  across  the  meadow  towards  the  base  of  the  looming 
shoulder  of  Mogalyon.  Ann's  heart  was  small  and 
weak  in  her  bosom  as  she  thought  of  riding  that  lonely 
way,  behind  that  sinister  guide ;  but  she  was  suffering 
with  cold,  and  the  way  of  return  seemed  intolerably 
long  and  lonely. 

As  they  drew  up  before  the  shanty  door  the  leader 
of  the  vedettes  rode  forward  and  said,  gently:  "Lady, 
the  road  from  here  to  the  summit  is  lined  with  cabins,' 
and  no  harm  can  possibly  come  to  you  while  I  have 
you  in  charge.  Or,  if  you  like,  you  can  stay  here  till 
morning;  but  I  would  advise  you  to  go  on  to  Mrs. 
Kelly's.  There  is  no  cabin  suited  to  your  needs  on 
this  side  of  the  peak." 

^Ann,  stiff  and  weary  and  hungry,  rose  in  her  seat 
with  a  sort  of  desperation.  "I  will  go,"  she  said,  with 
trembling  voice. 

The  vedette,  dismounting  quickly,  helped  her  to  the 

182 


Ann   Visits    the    Peak 

ground,  while  the  second  man,  leaning  low  on  his  horse, 
entered  into  a  muttered  conversation  with  an  unkempt 
man  in  the  doorway. 

Barnett  argued  and  insisted  on  going  on  to  Kelly's. 

"Not  one  step  farther!"  sternly  commanded  the 
vedette.  "But  you  can  sleep  here  till  daylight  if  you 
wish." 

Ann  interposed.  "  Don,  I  beg  of  you  to  go  home.  I 
don't  want  you  to  go  any  farther.  I  am  not  afraid 
how;  this  man  will  take  me  to  Mrs.  Kelly's.  I'm  sure 
of  it,  and  Louis  will  be  there  by  this  time,  and  Mr. 
Raymond." 

"Sure  thing,  lady;  and  it  isn't  late — not  more  than 
seven  o'clock.  We'll  almost  get  there  in  time  for  sup 
per.  Can  you  ride  a  horse?" 

"Yes." 

"Western  fashion?" 

"I  think  so — if  it  is  necessary." 

"Well,  I  will  put  you  on  my  saddle  and  I  will  walk 
and  lead  the  horse."  The  light  from  the  doorway  fell 
upon  him  as  he  approached  her,  and  the  sight  of  his 
boyish  face  reassured  her. 

As  Barnett  saw  her  rise  to  the  saddle,  he  burst  out: 
"This  is  preposterous!  You  must  not  go  up  there; 
the  boy  isn't  worth  it.  I'm  going  with  you  or  fight T 
He  drew  his  revolver,  but  some  one  caught  his  hand 
from  behind  and  twisted  the  weapon  out  of  his  grasp. 

"Go  on,  Jack.  We'll  take  care  of  him,"  called  the 
man  in  the  cabin  door. 

As  the  light  of  the  lamp  was  left  behind  and  the 
darkness  settled  round  her,  a  convulsive  terror  seized 
upon  the  girl.  The  horse,  stumbling  over  loose  rocks  in 
the  road,  which  ran  back  and  forth  on  the  hill-side  like 

183 


Hesper 

folds  of  braid,  passed  now  and  again  under  dark  and 
silent  pines,  and  in  one  of  these  shadowy  places  her 
leader  stopped  to  rest.  By  force  of  the  violent  con 
trast  Ann  thought  of  her  box  at  the  opera,  when  the 
lights  go  out  for  the  overture.  Surely  if  she  had  sought 
the  whole  earth  round  she  could  not  have  fallen  upon 
a  more  appalling  contrast  than  this  experience.  They 
were  assembling  for  "Tristan  und  Isolde,"  while  she 
was  being  led  by  masked  highwaymen  into  the  ob 
scurity  of  a  mountain.  At  that  moment  something 
took  place  in  her  brain — a  mist  cleared  away — she  felt 
herself  in  a  new  relation  to  the  world. 

She  was  not  an  imaginative  girl;  she  was,  on  the  con 
trary,  given  to  taking  a  prosaic  view  of  what  to  others 
would  have  been  fervidly  romantic  and  stirring ;  but  this 
she  admitted :  the  earth  was  larger,  more  vital,  and  more 
dangerous  than  before,  and  she  of  far  less  importance 
in  it  than  she  had  permitted  herself  to  acknowledge. 

Once,  as  her  guard  came  back  towards  her,  some 
thing  rose  in  her  throat,  some  elemental  dread,  and 
her  breath  rushed  hoarsely  through  her  lips.  "If 
Robert  only  knew  my  need  of  him,"  she  thought,  "he 
would  surely  come  to  me." 

The  man's  voice  was  gentle  as  he  said:  "You  see, 
lady,  the  camp  is  in  a  terrible  excitement.  We  heard 
to-day  that  the  sheriff  was  coming  with  a  posse,  and 
the  boys  kind  o'  hold  five  or  six  o'  those  one-lungers  in 
the  Springs  responsible.  They  are  particularly  down 
on  Barnett  for  putting  Mackay  up  to  that  trick.  But 
you'll  be  perfectly  safe  at  Kelly's,  and  it's  right  close 
to  Raymond's  shack,  so  that  you  can  see  your  brother 
as  soon  as  he  comes  in." 

As  they  resumed  their  way  the  lights  thickened,  and 
184 


Ann    Visits    the    Peak 

great,  angular  buildings  marked  the  location  of  the 
larger  mines.  Twice  silent  figures  met  them  and  passed, 
staring  closely  at  the  girl,  and  once  a  group  of  noisy 
miners  crossed  the  road  ahead  of  them,  arguing  bla 
tantly  among  themselves. 

At  length  Ann's  leader  turned  towards  a  dark,  high 
point  of  rocks,  the  trail  began  to  descend,  and  a  few 
minutes  later  they  came  to  a  warmly  lighted  cabin,  on 
the  door  of  which  the  guide  resolutely  knocked.  The 
latch  was  immediately  lifted,  and  a  small,  pale  woman 
with  a  blur  of  yellow  hair  about  her  head  appeared  in 
the  light. 

"Mrs.  Kelly,  I've  brought  you  a  boarder,"  began  the 

vedette. 

Ann  caught  sight  of  a  boy  at  the  table  and  gave  a 
cry  of  joy.  "Oh,  Louis!  Louis!" 

With  a  whoop  the  boy  rushed  from  the  cabin  and 
flung  his  arms  around  her. 

"  Oh,  Ann,  but  I'm  glad  to  see  you!  Where  is  Cousin 
Don  ?  Which  way  did  you  come  ?  Rob  has  gone  down 
to  Bozle  to  meet  you." 

Ann  turned  to  thank  her  guide,  who  was  looking  at 
her  with  undisguised  admiration. 

"It  was  a  great  pleasure,"  he  replied,  with  an 
sumption  of  grand  manner.     "  Introduce  me,  please,' 
he  said  to  Mrs.  Kelly. 

"I  must  introduce  myself  first,"  said  the  1 
an.     "I  am  Mrs.  Kelly,  and  your  guard  is  Mr.  Jack 

Munro." 

Ann  gave  him  her  hand.  "  I  thank  Mr.  Munro ;  but 
I  think  he  should  have  allowed  Mr.  Barnett  to  come 
into  shelter.  It  seemed  cruel  to  send  him  back  on  that 
long,  cold  drive." 

185 


Hesper 

Munro  remained  unmoved.  ''Oh,  he'll  stay  at  Clay- 
son's  overnight." 

Mrs.  Kelly  put  in  a  word.  "  I  think  you  better  come 
into  shelter;  you  must  be  cold  and  hungry.  Won't  you 
step  inside,  Mr.  Munro?" 

"No,  thank  you.  It  is  a  great  temptation,  but  I've 
work  to  do." 

"Good-night,"  said  Ann. 

"Good-night,  fair  lady,"  he  replied. 

And  so,  chilled  and  hungry,  Ann  entered  the  pleas 
ant  home  of  the  Kellys,  and  the  terror  of  the  dark  ride 
became  a  part  of  the  outer  world,  shut  away  by  the 
strong,  rude  door. 

"Rob  has  gone  down  to  the  stage  office,"  explained 
Mrs.  Kelly.  "We  thought  you'd  come  that  way." 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  come  with  Munro?"  asked 
Louis,  still  puzzled. 

Mrs.  Kelly  put  Ann  down  to  some  tea  and  cold  meat, 
and,  while  she  was  still  at  the  table  and  in  the  midst  of 
her  story,  Raymond  flung  open  the  door. 

"  Here  she  is!"  he  called  to  some  one  behind  him,  and 
his  white  face  and  glowing  eyes  testified  to  his  great 
anxiety. 

Ann  rose  to  meet  him  with  a  rush  of  trust  and  con 
fidence  that  filled  her  throat  and  rendered  her  wordless, 
but  she  held  her  hand  towards  him. 

He  seized  it.  "I  was  greatly  alarmed  when  I  heard 
that  you  were  coming  alone.  How  did  you  come? — 
how  did  you  find  the  way?" 

Ann  then  said,  "Your  friend  Munro  met  us,  turned 
Don  back,  and  piloted  me  up  the  hill." 

"Don  mustn't  come  here  now." 

"That  is  what  Mr.  Munro  said." 
186 


Ann    Visits    the    Peak 

Raymond  turned  to  a  big  man  who  stood  waiting. 
"Miss  Rupert,  this  is  Matthew  Kelly,  my  mining  part 
ner." 

Ann  gave  her  hand  into  Kelly's  enormous  palm  with 
a  look  of  admiration.  "  I  am  glad  to  know  you,  Mr. 
Kelly.  I  have  heard  Louis  speak  of  you  very  often." 

In  the  presence  of  these  men  Ann  lost  all  sense  of 
fear  and  weakness.  They  were  possessed  of  some 
thing  which  Don,  loyal  as  he  was,  lacked.  Their  very 
glances  calmed  and  conquered.  To  be  with  them  was 
like  being  befriended  on  the  desert  by  the  lion,  in  the 
jungle  by  the  tiger — for  they  belonged  to  the  wilderness 
and  to  the  cabin,  and  knew  the  rigors,  the  rages,  and 
the  humors  of  the  peak  and  its  dwellers. 

Raymond's  eyes  hardly  left  her  face;  but  she  no 
longer  resented  his  interest.  On  the  contrary,  she  stud 
ied  him  closely.  There  was  a  subtle  change  in  him — 
he  seemed  older,  gentler,  but  more  manly  and  hand 
somer  than  before. 

"  It  is  a  rude  place  for  you  to  live,  Miss  Rupert,"  he 
said,  "but  there  is  no  danger.  The  strike  has  not  in 
volved  us.  We  are  as  peaceful  as  a  farm  here." 

She  smiled  back  into  his  eyes  with  more  of  liking 
than  she  had  ever  expressed. 

"  I  am  not  afraid,"  she  replied.  "  I  am  going  to  find 
the  camp  interesting.  At  any  rate,  so  long  as  Louis  is 
settled  in  his  determination  to  be  a  miner,  I  must  keep 
him  in  sight." 

"It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  have  him  with  me,  and  I 
am  glad  to  be  of  use  to  him,  for  his  own  sake  as  well  as 
for  what  you  have  come  to  mean  to  me." 

Ann's  lashes  fell  before  the  glow  of  his  admiring 
eyes,  and  with  this  sign  of  weakness  a  flush  of  resent  - 

187 


Hesper 

ment  again  passed  over  her.  "He  must  not  look  at 
me  in  that  way,"  she  complained  to  herself. 

When  Raymond  left  the  house  to  walk  back  to  his 
own  cabin,  he  resented,  for  the  first  time,  the  presence 
of  Louis.  He  wished  to  be  alone  with  the  mysterious 
emotion  which  had  swept  back  upon  him  at  sight  of 
Ann.  He  faced  the  night,  out  of  which  every  shred  of 
vapor  had  vanished,  and  the  blue-black  vault,  blazing 
with  innumerable  jetting  globes  of  light,  invited  to  high 
thoughts,  to  serious  imaginings. 

His  duty  plainly  was  to  lay  hands  upon  the  lad  and 
hustle  him  back  to  Valley  Springs,  and  so  put  both 
brother  and  sister  out  of  his  life;  but  this  was  not  easy. 
It  was  a  deep  pleasure  to  think  of  that  delicate  and 
cultured  girl  in  the  Kelly  cottage  —  so  near  to  him  — 
fairly  under  his  protection.  "A  few  hours  and  I  can 
see  her  again,"  was  a  refrain  in  his  thought.  "And  yet 
this  is  no  place  for  her." 

He  argued  that  she  was  in  no  danger,  and  that  the 
change  of  air  would  do  her  good.  "She  will  be  inter 
ested  in  the  mines,"  he  went  on,  in  formless  debate  with 
himself.  "The  scenery  is  magnificent;  and  then,  of 
course,  she  can  go  down  at  any  time  we  think  wise." 

Louis  was  too  excited  to  go  to  bed.  His  eyes  glowed 
and  his  lips  trembled  as  he  exclaimed  again:  "Isn't  it 
good  of  Ann!  I'm  perfectly  happy  now.  Wasn't  it 
nice  to  see  her  come  in?" 

"Yes,  it  is  wonderful  to  think  of  her — here  so  near 
us." 

"She's  a  trump.  I  wish  she'd  fall  in  love  with  you," 
the  lad  ended,  made  reckless  by  happiness. 

Raymond's  face  remained  impassive,  but  his  cheek 
flushed.  "See  here,  youngster,  don't  you  make  any 

1 88 


Ann    Visits    the    Peak 

more  such  breaks  as  that  or  you'll  invite  trouble. 
Moreover,  you  turn  in  and  go  to  bed  or  I'll  buck  and 
gag  you  this  minute."  Thereupon  Louis  fell  silent, 
but  his  boyish  frankness  had  made  painfully  definite 
the  desire  which  Raymond  had  tried  to  keep  unformed 
and  unacknowledged  in  his  heart. 

Something  softer,  sweeter,  more  yielding  had  ap 
peared  in  the  girl's  face,  in  her  voice,  and  this  phase  of 
her  character  was  more  alluring  than  any  other  she  had 
permitted  him  to  see. 

In  this  mood  she  seemed  to  approach  her  forgotten 
name — the  name  whose  every  letter  was  filled  with 
poetry  to  her  father.  She  became  Hesper — star  of  the 
West — a  part  of  the  land  the  father  found  so  imperish- 
ably  beautiful  a  quarter  of  a  century  before. 


XIII 
Ann    Touches    Plank    Floors 


little  room  to  which  Mrs.  Kelly  conducted  Ann 
_  was  hardly  larger  than  a  steamer  state-room  and 
was  very  primitive  as  regards  its  furnishings.  The 
walls  were  of  unhewn  pine  logs  and  the  floors  of  rough 
planks  still  odorous  from  the  saw.  A  cheap  wooden 
bed  stood  in  one  corner,  taking  up  nearly  half  of  the 
space,  and  a  chair  and  a  little  wash-stand  of  Matt's 
making  completed  the  "outfit,"  as  he  called  it. 

"It's  a  small  place  and  a  rough  place  for  such  as 
you,  but  it's  the  best  we  have." 

Ann  responded  to  the  humility  which  shaded  the 
hearty  voice  of  her  hostess,  and,  though  she  shivered 
in  the  chill  air,  answered,  cheerily:  "I'm  sure  this  is 
very  nice.  The  bed  is  tempting." 

"I  hope  you  won't  freeze.  I'll  get  another  blanket 
for  you.  If  I'd  thought,  I  should  have  warmed  the 
sheets." 

"  Please  don't  trouble.  I  do  not  expect  all  the  com 
forts  of  a  hotel  on  a  mountain-top.  I  assure  you  I  am 
a  very  healthy  immigrant." 

Hesitatingly,  with  many  misgivings,  Mrs.  Kelly  with 
drew,  and  Ann  hurriedly  disrobed  and  leaped  into  the 
bed,  which  was  white  as  snow  and  almost  as  cold.  It 
was  like  a  plunge  into  the  breakers  at  Magnolia  ;  it  f  air- 

190 


Ann   Touches    Plank    Floors 

ly  took  her  breath  away,  and  there  was  no  escape  from 
this  icy  contact,  for  the  air  was  as  bitter  as  the  sheets. 

As  she  lay  with  chattering  teeth,  her  mind  reverted 
to  a  visit  she  had  once  made  as  a  child  to  the  home  of 
her  grandmother  —  a  Thanksgiving  Day  ineffaceably 
marked  in  her  mind  by  the  frost  of  an  attic-room  to 
which  she  and  a  maid  had  been  assigned.  She  won 
dered  if  Mrs.  Kelly's  room  were  as  cold  as  hers.  Truly 
when  one  went  out  of  one's  proper  sphere  of  life  ex 
periences  lay  in  wait  as  eagles  hover  to  devour  lambs. 

The  courage  with  which  she  had  faced  the  hardships 
of  her  trip  and  the  amusement  which  she  now  drew 
from  her  struggle  with  the  cold  of  her  bed  amazed  the 
girl.  Some  latent  force,  some  quality  she  was  unaware 
of,  rose  to  fortify  her  against  discomfort  and  danger. 
Marvelling  at  this,  she  mentally  retraced  the  mountain- 
road,  dwelling  upon  the  more  salient  incident  of  the 
ride.  The  loom  of  the  horseman  in  the  dusk  thrilled 
her  again  with  fear.  She  studied  once  more  the  dif 
ferences  in  the  voices  of  the  two  guards — that  of  the 
young  man,  jocular  and  cultivated,  while  the  guttural 
snarl  of  his  companion  was  like  the  threat  of  a  wolf. 
The  sinking  of  her  heart  at  parting  with  Barnett  came 
back,  and  when  in  this  retrospect  she  abandoned  her 
self  to  the  guidance  of  her  half-seen  guide  through  the 
dark  of  the  mountain-path,  she  shuddered  with  some 
thing  other  than  cold.  But  the  joy  of  the  meeting  with 
Louis,  and  the  unexpected  glow  of  confidence  and  pleas 
ure  with  which  she  met  Raymond's  anxious,  piercing 
eyes,  came  back  to  warm  her  heart. 

How  changed  he  was!  How  deeply  brown!  He 
looked  as  vigorous  as  she  saw  him  first  at  the  ranch, 
and  yet  different — years  older;  and  with  his  strength, 

191 


Hesper 

his  resolution,  something  new  was  mingled — something 
graver  and  sweeter.  He  was  handsomer  in  the  miner's 
heavy  boots  than  in  the  cow-boy's  spurs  and  kerchief. 
His  chin  was  fine — so  firm  and  so  cleanly  carved — the 
chin  of  a  man  who  would  win  his  way,  who  would  fight 
his  way.  And  his  eyes — 

Her  mind  took  up  again  the  singularity  of  her  posi 
tion,  lying  there  in  a  frosty  bed  in  a  miner's  cabin  two 
full  miles  above  the  city  of  her  birth.  She  laughed. 
''Am  I  to  meet  my  death  by  freezing?"  But  at  last 
a  glow  of  comfort  began  to  steal  over  her,  a  delicious 
languor,  and  then — she  was  awakened  by  a  grinding 
sound  and  by  the  shouting  of  cheerful  children,  and  a 
few  minutes  later  the  gentle  voice  of  Mrs.  Kelly  sounded 
at  the  door. 

"Are  you  awake?"  Ann  threw  back  the  coverlet  to 
find  the  room  full  of  sunshine.  "May  I  come  in?" 
asked  Mrs.  Kelly. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Ann,  and  the  pale  and  pretty  little 
housewife  entered  with  a  pitcher  of  warm  water. 
"Good-morning.     How  did  you  sleep  the  night?" 
"I  don't  know.     I  haven't  the  slightest  idea  where 
the  night  went  to." 

"It's  quite  cold  this  morning.  Shall  I  bring  your 
breakfast  to  you?" 

" See  my  breath!"  Ann  cried,  in  astonishment.  "It's 
frozen." 

Mrs.  Kelly  laughed.  "  Ye're  lucky  not  to  have  a  nose 
frozen."  Then  she  added,  hospitably,  "Don't  get  up  till 
the  fire  warms  the  room.  I'll  leave  the  door  open  a 
bit." 

After  her  hostess  left  her,  Ann  lay  staring  at  the 
rough  walls  and  the  still  more  primitive  ceiling  in  won- 

192 


Ann    Touches    Plank    Floors 

der.  "It  must  be  real,"  she  thought, "for  I  couldn't 
possibly  dream  it."  With  a  realization  of  her  own 
sloth,  she  sprang  out  upon  the  cold  floor  and  began  to 
dress  with  a  vigor  and  celerity  she  did  not  know  she 
possessed. 

She  came  into  the  little  sitting-room,  which  served 
also  as  dining-room,  to  find  Kelly  with  a  youngster  on 
each  knee,  trotting  them  "to  Boston  "  so  hard  that  their 
yellow  hair  flew  in  clouds  about  their  shining  eyes. 

Pulling  his  horses  to  an  uneasy  stand,  the  big  miner 
said:  "Top  o'  the  morning,  miss.  How  did  ye  sleep?" 

"Very  well  indeed,  thank  you." 
'  'Twas  all  I  could  do  to  kape  these  wild  Injuns  still. 
As  soon  as  the  sun  comes  in  they  begin  the  day — each 
day  noisier  than  the  rest." 

The  wild  Injuns  gurgled  with  laughter,  and  in  the 
midst  of  their  frolic  Mrs.  Kelly  re-entered.  "Oh,  I'm 
sorry  you  got  up,  miss,  I  was  about  to  bring  your  coffee 
to  you." 

"I'm  among  Spartans  now,"  said  Ann,  "and  I'm 
going  to  eat  when  the  Spartans  do." 

During  breakfast  she  studied  Mrs.  Kelly,  and  began 
to  understand  at  last  that  the  little  mother  had  not 
merely  washed  and  dressed  the  boys  and  cooked  the 
breakfast,  but  had  served  as  waitress  and \ maid  of  all 
work,  and  now,  calm  and  sweet  and  self-contained,  was 
presiding  over  the  table.  If  any  dish  needed  replen 
ishing,  she  sprang  up  to  get  it,  and  this  put  the  robust 
daughter  of  wealth  to  shame. 

"  Don't  you  feel  tired  some  mornings  and  lie  a-bed?" 
she  asked. 

Mrs.  Kelly  smiled.     "  Indeed  I  do,  but  I  can't  afford 
to  lie  a-bed.     When  Matt  makes  his  next  strike,  sure 
*3  193 


Hesper 

I'm  going  to  hire  a  girl  and  sleep  till  I'm  weary  of  it,  if 
it  takes  a  week." 

''You  must  let  me  do  something  while  I  am  here," 
said  Ann.  "Let  me  provide  a  maid  for  you." 

"Oh  no;  I  was  only  jokin'.  Sure  you  couldn't  hire 
a  girl  on  the  hill  to  do  housework;  besides,  the  best  of 
them  are  not  fit  company  for  you,  and  in  a  small  hut 
like  this  you're  cheek  by  jowl  with  your  help." 

Ann  had  not  thought  of  them  as  company,  but  she 
gravely  replied :  "  I  might  bring  a  maid  from  my  cousin's 
house.  At  any  rate,  you  must  let  me  help  this  morn 
ing.  I  can  sweep  and  dust — indeed,  I  can." 

"Mighty  little  dusting  the  shack  needs  in  this  air," 
said  Mrs.  Kelly.  "Good-luck  to  me,  it's  tiny." 

"  I  must  help  or  I  will  not  stay,"  insisted  Ann.  "  At 
least,  I  can  amuse  the  children,"  she  added,  looking  at 
Kelly,  who  had  risen. 

" Boys,  mind  the  lady  now,"  said  he;  "and  you  have 
a  care  they  don't  tear  you  to  pieces.  They  are  divils 
for  breakin'  bones." 

Louis  shot  through  the  door  like  a  stone  from  a 
sling.  His  eyes  were  dancing.  "Good-morning,  ev 
erybody,"  he  shouted.  "  Haven't  you  breakfasted  yet? 
Why,  we've  been  done  ten  minutes.  Isn't  this  bully — 
this  life  up  here?  How  do  you  feel  this  morning?" 

Ann  laughed  to  see  him  so  elate,  so  vigorous.  "What 
a  child  you  are!"  she  exclaimed,  in  wonder. 

Raymond  followed  at  a  little  distance.  "Good- 
morning,  Miss  Rupert.  Good-morning,  Nora.  Hello, 
younkers,"  and  he  gathered  a  boy  under  each  arm.  He 
looked  very  capable  and  entirely  self-contained  as  he 
put  the  lads  down  and  addressed  himself  to  Ann.  "I 
suppose  your  baggage  went  to  Bozle,  but  we  will  get 

194 


Ann    Touches    Plank    Floors 

that  to-day;  and,  Mrs.  Kelly,  if  you  need  anything  to 
make  Miss  Rupert  comfortable  let  us  know — to  the  lim 
it  of  our  resources  command  us." 

Ann,  with  unaccountable  lightness  of  spirit,  quickly 
protested.  "Now,  please  don't  make  company  of  me. 
I  am  going  to  earn  my  living  by  helping  Mrs.  Kelly 
about  the  house.  My  bed  was  very  comfortable  and 
my  breakfast  delicious.  What  else  do  I  require?  One 
needn't  ask  how  you  are ;  you  look  to  be  perfectly  well 
again." 

Louis  stared  at  his  sister,  and  was  about  to  make 
some  revealing  remark  when  Raymond  intervened. 
"We  are  very  glad  to  have  you  in  camp,  but  you  must 
not  suffer  inconveniences." 

"I've  been  thinking  perhaps  it  would  do  me  good  to 
suffer  hardship,"  she  answered,  with  a  reflective  glance. 

He  considered  a  moment  before  changing  the  sub 
ject.  "Everything  seems  quiet  up  street  this  morn 
ing,  so  our  trouble  may  blow  over.  I  am  going  up 
by-and-by  and  will  report  on  what  is  brewing  in  the 
saloons.  They  are  the  storm-centres.  I'm  sorry  Don 
started  to  come  in,  and  I  hope  he  will  go  quietly  back 
and  forget  the  whole  incident." 

As  Ann  helped  about  the  table,  clearing  the  dishes 
away,  her  senses  seemed  suddenly  freshened,  renewed. 
On  the  clean,  rough  floor  the  two  sturdy,  blond  lads 
were  playing  with  a  small  and  battered  toy  engine. 
The  sunlight  streamed  in  magically  clear  and  golden. 
There  was  a  wifely  charm  in  everything  Nora  Kelly  did 
— in  her  deft  handling  of  the  dishes,  in  her  unhurried 
step,  and  in  her  half -smiling,  grateful  face,  which  was 
often  turned  upon  her  visitor.  The  scene  was  homely 
— homely  in  the  most  primitive  sense — and  its  spirit 

195 


Hesper 

laid  hold  upon  something  long  hidden  in  the  girl.  Her 
blood  grew  swifter  in  its  courses ;  she  returned  to  the 
i  >ya  of  her  grandmother's  pioneer  days  in  the  Alle- 
ghany  forests.  The  rough  walls,  the  low  ceiling,  the 
slab  chairs,  the  steaming  tea-kettle  on  the  fire,  all  these 
seemed  at  the  moment  more  real,  more  vitally  woven 
into  her  life  than  the  furnishings  of  the  city  home  in 
which  she  had  lived  since  a  child. 

The  cook -stove,  the  kettle,  the  busy  housewife  re 
called  the  deep  delight  with  which  she  used  to  visit,  as 
a  girl  of  ten  or  twelve,  the  ancestral  home  somewhere 
up  towards  the  great  hills  —  a  gray,  old  farm-house 
wherein  her  father  began  his  life.  She  was  intoxicated 
with  joy  of  her  unexpected  release  from  her  indiffer- 
entism. 

For  years  she  had  moved  in  a  sort  of  gray  cloud — a 
world  in  which  the  sunlight  was  always  pale — a  world  of 
plenty,  containing  everything  but  zest,  and  deep  in  her 
secret  heart  she  had  begun  to  fear  that  she  had  gone 
past  any  real  passion,  any  close-hand  contact  with  life. 
She  had  said:  "  I've  seen  too  much.  I've  travelled  too 
much.  I  have  destroyed  my  appetite,  and  nothing 
will  ever  taste  good."  Now,  as  she  worked  at  the  table 
with  her  gentle  little  hostess,  a  hope  sprang  up.  She 
began  to  ask  herself  the  meaning  of  this  pleasure. 

She  found  herself  not  merely  liking  Xora  Kelly,  but 
respecting  her.  She  was  work-worn  and  in  a  sense  un 
learned,  but  she  had  native  dignity  and  a  certain  grave 
sweetness  of  temper  which  ennobled  her,  and  the  girl's 
heart  went  out  to  her.  "  Now,  you're  to  call  me  Ann, 
and  I'll  call  you  Nora,"  she  said,  "and  you're  to  teach 
me  to  work.  I've  been  living  a  life  of  perfect  idle 
ness  down  at  the  Springs,  and  I  need  to  work.  You 

196 


Ann    Touches    Plank    Floors 

must  get  fairly  dragged  out  with  the  never-ending 
duties." 

Mrs.  Kelly's  face  was  wistfuL  "  Yes,  sometimes ;  but 
Matt  is  good  to  me,  and  the  boys,  with  all  their  noise 
and  worry  of  me,  are  a  great  comfort.  Sometimes, 
when  I  feel  ill  of  a  morning,  Matt  gets  the  breakfast. 
"Tfa  a  sorry  breakfast,  but  it  does  me  good  to  see  him 
moving  about  like  an  elephant  pickin*  up  pins,  leavin' 
a  trail  of  dirty  dishes  behind  him,  the  great  gawk  that 
he  is." 

Ann's  heart  warmed  towards  Kelly,  and  in  imafli 
nation  could  see  his  kind  but  devastating  figure  lum 
bering  about  the  tiny  kitchen,  followed  by  the  lads. 
His  giant  frame  made  the  whole  cabin  seem  like  a  toy 
house.  Thus  far  he  had  appeared  rather  silent  and 
reserved;  but  this  was  shyness,  so  Mis.  Kelly  said, 
though  Ann  could  hardly  believe  her,  so  "gmt^M  was 
his  head,  so  serene  his  glance. 

44  Have  you  always  had  to  do  this — I  mean  since  your 
marriage?"  asked  Ann,  a  little  later. 

"  Oh  no.  When  we  were  first  iiuuLiied  we  had  a  nice 
little  house,  and  I  kept  a  girl;  but  Matt  is  a  restless 
one.  He  sold  his  claim  soon  after,  and  the  house,  too. 
and  we  began  again  in  Sylvanite.  We  lost  all  we  had 
there,  and  then  we  came  here,  and  they  made  him  chief, 
and  we  were  just  going  to  build  a  house  when  he 
found  this  vein,  and  put  all  his  money  into  developing 
it:  and  now  we're  hoping  to  make  a  stake  and  sell, 
and  go  down  to  the  Springs  where  the  lads  can  get  an 
education.  Matt  has  roamed  the  hiHs  long  enough." 

Here  was  the  secret  of  her  patience.  Love  made 
every  hardship  light — love  for  her  husband,  and  pride 
and  hope  in  the  future  of  her  boys.  The  girl  rose  to 

197 


Hesper 

a  conception  that  one  might  even  grow  old  contentedly 
with  cares  and  plans  like  these. 

"I  wish  I  could  love  like  that,"  the  girl  cried  out 
in  her  innermost  heart.  "  I  want  to  love  and  to  suffer. 
I  want  realities — not  this  tepid,  purposeless  existence 
I  now  have,"  and  the  shaping  of  this  cry  in  words 
helped  her  and  cleared  the  way  before  her. 

She  had  not  always  been  so  cold,  so  sluggish.  She 
enjoyed  her  coming  out,  her  first  evenings  at  the  opera, 
her  tea-pouring  at  receptions.  For  some  years  these 
were  pleasures — keen  and  joyous  experiences — but  by 
degrees  they  had  come  to  be  tedious,  meaningless.  Life 
had  become  flat,  like  champagne  out  of  which  the  tang 
has  fled.  Her  mother — she  checked  herself.  "  I  will 
not  blame  my  mother." 

"Oh,  if  I  could  only  give  this  poor,  tired  woman 
a  little  of  my  security  and  physical  comfort,"  she 
thought,  as  she  sat  watching  Nora  put  the  boys  into 
their  out-door  jackets.  "I've  been  served  too  much," 
she  said,  aloud,  to  Mrs.  Kelly.  "I've  had  things  done 
for  me  all  my  life,  and  I'm  tired  of  it.  It  will  be  a  real 
kindness  if  you  will  let  me  do  things  for  you.  Show 
me  how  to  mend  clothes  and  I  will  do  it  while  you  lie 
and  watch  me.  I  can  do  a  little  sewing  of  a  sort.  I 
can  even  learn  to  darn  stockings  and  cook." 

Something  in  her  voice — but  more  especially  in  her 
eyes — touched  the  little  wife  to  the  heart.  Turning, 
she  put  her  arms  about  the  girl's  neck  and  gave  way  to 
tears. 

"You're  good  to  me.  I've  been  so  lonely  up  here. 
If  you  will  only  let  me  love  you." 

Ann  kissed  her.  "You  poor  thing!  I  think  I  un 
derstand.  Men  are  all  very  well — but  we  need  our  kind, 

198 


Ann    Touches    Plank    Floors 

don't  we?  Now,  you  get  your  work-basket  and  show 
me  what  to  do,  and  I'll  do  it  while  you  rest,  you  work- 
weary  thing.  It  seems  I  am  come  just  in  time  to  keep 
you  from  breaking  down." 

"Sure,  God  must  have  known  how  lonesome  I  was 
and  sent  you  to  me,"  said  Nora,  fervently. 

Raymond,  looking  in  at  the  door,  was  wonderfully 
heartened  by  seeing  Ann  bent  above  a  work-basket, 
with  Mrs.  Kelly  sitting  near  in  the  attitude  of  teacher. 
"I'm  sorry  to  interrupt  important  business,  but  Louis 
and  I  are  impatient  to  have  you  see  our  bungalow.  To 
tell  the  truth,  we've  been  trying  to  tidy  it  up  in  prep 
aration  for  your  coming." 

Ann  looked  up  brightly.  "  Is  it  quite  presentable  at 
this  moment?" 

"Louis  considers  it  in  order.  I  am  a  little  dubious 
myself." 

She  rose.  "Very  well;  I  will  go  now.  I'll  return  to 
my  work  soon,"  she  said  to  her  hostess. 

"  Bless  your  heart,  don't  think  you  must  hurry  back," 
said  Mrs.  Kelly,  and  her  look  conveyed  the  gratifica 
tion  she  felt  in  seeing  the  young  people  on  such  friendly 
terms. 

"  It  is  a  source  of  chagrin  to  me  that  I  was  of  so  little 
service  to  you  last  night,"  Raymond  began,  when  they 
were  fairly  outside  the  door. 

"Oh,  what  a  great,  glittering  world!"  exclaimed  Ann, 
catching  her  breath  as  the  splendor  of  sky  and  peak 
rolled  in  upon  her. 

"You  brought  it.     The  sky  has  been  gray  for  days." 

When  her  eyes  had  absorbed  the  beauty  of  the  high 
world,  Ann  permitted  herself  to  observe  the  town  be 
neath  and  the  mines  in  the  foreground. 

199 


Hesper 

"It  isn't  a  bit  as  I  thought  it  would  be,"  she  said. 
"Where  are  the  canons  and  the  rushing  streams  and 
the  log  foot-bridges  and  the  cabins  perched  high  on 
the  crags?  It  isn't  a  bit  as  father  described  it." 

"  He  was  writing  of  canon-diggings.  Sky  is  a  differ 
ent  proposition,  as  they  say  up  here.  We're  above  the 
canons — above  the  streams,  in  fact.  Saloon  Row,  over 
there,  is  almost  above  timber-line." 

4 '  How  can  you  wash  gold  out  of  the  rocks  without 
water?" 

"We  pound  it  out  with  stamp-mills.  You  are  think 
ing  of  placer-mining.  There  is  no  golden  soil  here. 
It's  all  quartz-mining." 

"It  isn't  a  bit  as  I  thought  it  was,"  she  repeated. 

"Are  you  disappointed?" 

"Yes,  I  am.  I  thought  it  would  be  more  picturesque, 
more  as  father  saw  it.  Still,  it's  superb — in  the  dis 
tance,  at  least." 

"That  farthest  range  is  his  Hesperean  wall,"  he  said, 
with  a  meaning  glance. 

Louis  stood  in  the  door  to  greet  them.  "I  thought 
you  weren't  ever  coming,"  he  said.  "I'm  crazy  to 
show  our  house." 

"  Oh,  how  fine!"  cried  Ann,  quite  sincerely  delighted. 
The  room  was  of  good  size,  and  the  sun,  streaming  in 
at  the  windows,  fell  in  a  flood  along  the  floor,  while  a 
big  fire  warmed  the  hearth-stone.  It  was  color-full 
with  rugs,  and  its  rude  chairs  were  in  keeping  with  its 
walls.  A  big  table  showed  signs  of  being  the  common 
work -bench,  littered  as  it  was  with  drawings  and 
books. 

"We  have  two  other  rooms,"  announced  the  boy, 
with  pride,  "a  bedroom  and  a  dining-room." 

200 


Ann    Touches    Plank    Floors 

"How  luxurious!" 

"The  extravagances  are  mine,"  remarked  Raymond. 
"  Louis  was  quite  content  with  the  bare  necessities — in 
fact,  I  think  he  resents  comfort  as  being  distinctly  de 
bilitating." 

i  Ann  could  not  but  show  a  little  surprise  at  each  well- 
turned  phrase  in  Raymond's  speech.  She  turned  sud 
denly.  "Now,  tell  me  about  the  camp.  What  is  the 
trouble  all  about?  I  can't  understand." 

"It's  quite  simple,"  he  replied.  "The  county  is 
about  equally  divided  now  between  the  miners  of  the 
peak  and  the  citizens  of  the  plain.  The  peak's  in 
terests  are  not  those  of  the  Springs,  and  it  has  resented 
for  a  year  the  domination  of  the  Springs.  The  owners 
of  the  mines  are  either  residents  of  the  plain  or  of  the 
East,  and  violently  opposed  to  the  politics  of  the 
camp.  Barnett's  man,  Mackay,  attempted  to  reorgan 
ize  the  working  hours  of  the  camp  and  failed  —  you 
know  of  the  mishandling  he  received." 

"What  are  they  going  to  do  now?" 

"I  don't  know.  As  the  case  stands,  the  camp  is 
hot  against  any  invasion  by  the  sheriff  and  '  a  mob  of 
hirelings,'  as  they  call  his  deputies;  and  his  attempt  to 
overawe  the  camp  only  created  more  furious  resistance. 
I  will  be  able  to  tell  better  what  the  outcome  will  be 
when  I  learn  what  the  union  has  decided  to  do.  Thus 
far  it  has  been  a  game  of  bluff  on  the  part  of  a  dozen 
men  who  are  not  strictly  miners  at  all,  and  the  ques 
tion  of  wages  has  had  little  attention.  I  am  going  up 
now  to  see  what  is  going  on." 

She  turned  to  Louis.  "You  must  not  go.  You 
must  stay  with  me." 

Louis   looked   deeply   disappointed,   but   Raymond 


2OI 


Hesper 

added:  "That's  true,   lad;   stay  with  your  sister  and 
keep  her  on  the  peak.     We  need  her." 

Louis  smiled  slyly.  "Oh,  she'll  stay  all  right.  She's 
going  to  like  it  as  well  as  I  do." 

As  they  were  walking  back  to  the  Kelly  cabin,  Ann 
said:  "These  are  my  brother's  trial  years,  both  physi 
cally  and  spiritually.  If  he  lives  these  two  years,  the 
doctor  tells  me  all  danger  of  consumption  will  be  over ; 
and  if  he  can  be  kept  untouched  of  this  vicious  world 
up  here — "  She  did  not  finish. 

' '  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  guard  him — you  know  that ; 
but  I  believe  in  breeding.  Louis  is  a  good  boy,  not  be 
cause  he  has  had  no  opportunity  to  do  evil,  but  because 
his  soul  is  naturally  fastidious.  He  keeps  his  heart  free 
of  evil  thoughts,  just  as  he  keeps  his  hands  clean.  He 
is  a  great  joy  and  comfort  to  me — never  a  burden  or 
annoyance." 

Ann's  eyes  were  softer  in  their  light  than  he  had 
ever  seen  them,  as  she  put  out  her  hand.  "Thank  you 
sincerely  for  those  words.  Henceforth  I  will  not  doubt 
your  guardianship.  You'll  forgive  me,  won't  you?" 

"For  what?" 

"For  distrusting  you." 

"  If  distrust  of  my  care  brought  you  here,  I  am  ready 
not  merely  to  forgive  you  but  to  thank  you  for  it." 

She  turned  her  shoulder  to  him.  "I  don't  like  you 
when  you  pay  labored  compliments." 

"Now,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  answered,  quickly. 
"I  will  not  offend  again." 

"As  it  was  a  first  offence,  I  forgive  you,"  she  replied, 
with  a  glance  that  exalted  him  and  remained  with  him 
like  a  benediction." 

202 


XIV 
Raymond    Opposes    Violence 

AS  Raymond  entered  the  street,  the  peace  and 
£\.  beauty  of  the  Kelly  home,  and  the  vision  of  the 
two  women  bent  peacefully  above  their  sewing,  stood 
away  in  radiant  contrast  above  the  reeking  saloons,  the 
reckless  crowds  of  gamesters,  and  the  rows  of  drink- 
inflamed  men  lounging  along  each  bar.  Slattern  wom 
en  leaned  from  shanty  doors,  blinking  and  yawning  in 
the  sun,  garbed  only  in  crumpled  wrappers,  their  hair 
unkempt,  careless  of  the  sheriff's  menace,  careless  of 
their  future,  careless  of  their  God.  Chinamen,  sleepy- 
eyed,  but  mechanically  swift  and  noiseless,  looked  out 
on  the  street  sardonically  while  smoothing  rough  linen 
in  the  windows  of  their  small  shops.  Compact  knots 
of  miners  were  grouped  in  the  middle  of  the  street, 
as  if  for  greater  privacy,  talking  earnestly,  with  many 
oaths.  The  searching  light  of  the  unclouded  sun  re 
vealed  the  hard  and  unlovely  lines  of  each  face,  and 
the  town,  utterly,  inexcusably  squalid,  called  fiercely 
for  the  shadow  to  cover  its  nakedness  and  filth. 

The  lover's  senses,  sharpened  by  Ann's  presence  in 
the  camp,  detected  a  most  sinister  change  in  the  temper 
of  the  men.  Up  to  this  time  all  that  had  taken  place 
had  been  jocular,  at  least  on  the  surface,  but  the  sher 
iff's  threatened  invasion,  with  a  hundred  hired  thugs, 

203 


Hesper 

stirred  the  red  fires  of  wrath  in  men  like  Hanley,  Brock, 
and  Collingwood,  who  had  hitherto  been  but  on-lookers, 
and  they  were  now  the  inciting  centres  of  men  talking 
loudly  and  with  undisguised  fury.  Raymond  began 
to  see  the  striking  miners  as  Ann  would  see  them — 
abstractly  they  were  oppressed  workmen;  concretely 
they  were  filthy  and  dangerous.  "And  yet  this  should 
not  rob  them  of  their  right,"  he  admitted. 

Hanley,  assuming  a  fine  virtue,  argued:  "Why  didn't 
he  come  up  here  as  sheriff,  alone.  No  one  would  have 
resisted  the  properly  constituted  authority  of  the  coun 
ty;  but  when  he  comes  with  a  lot  of  battered  bums 
trailing  at  his  heels,  he  invites  trouble,  and  he'll 
get  it." 

To  this  Dan  Brock,  surrounded  by  his  cronies,  merely 
winked  and  said,  "We  see  his  bluff." 

Hanley,  perceiving  Raymond  at  the  door,  approached 
to  say:  "One  of  Munro's  vedettes  intercepted  that  kid 
of  yours  last  night,  and  got  word  that  Don  Barnett 
was  on  his  way  up  here.  You  better  warn  him  off." 

Raymond  resented  his  tone,  but  coldly  replied: 
"The  boy  was  mistaken.  Barnett  turned  back  at 
Grand  View." 

Some  one  plucked  him  by  the  arm,  and,  following 
his  guide,  Raymond  entered  the  room  used  as  the 
office  of  the  union,  where  he  found  Carter,  the  presi 
dent,  and  Larned,  the  organizer,  in  the  midst  of  a  hot 
argument  with  Munro,  Smith,  and  a  group  of  others  of 
their  sort.  Larned  was  shaking  with  excitement  and 
rage,  and  Carter,  the  little  president,  looked  white  and 
scared. 

"Keep  out!"  called  Smith. 

But  Larned,  who  knew  Raymond's  mind,  shouted: 
204 


Raymond    Opposes   Violence 

"Come  in!     Come  and  talk  to  these  fire-eaters;  you're 
a  man  of  sense." 

Munro,  with  a  grin,  added,  "Come  in,  Rob;  this  is  a 
council  of  war." 

Raymond  entered  calmly,  his  head  a  little  bent, 
his  keen  eyes  studying  every  face.  "What's  it  all 
about?" 

Larned  explained,  his  hands  quivering,  the  veins  on 
his  forehead  bulging,  his  eyes  restless  and  fevered. 
"  If  they  do  it,"  he  said,  "  I  leave — I  get  out.  I  will  not 
countenance  lawlessness  of  this  sort.  I'm  not  a  fool, 
I  know  what  the  effect  will  be.  If  they  turn  back  this 
posse,  the  State  militia  will  be  called  out." 

"The  Governor  is  on  our  side,"  said  Smith.  "Our 
party  has  a  majority  in  the  State." 

"Yes,  yes;  but  that  won't  save  you.  Every  decent, 
law-abiding  citizen  will  go  against  you  —  your  own 
party  will  desert  you.  I  know.  I  know.  I  came  to 
organize  a  union  to  meet  the  coming  question  of  labor 
and  capital.  I  did  not  come  here  to  form  mobs.  I  re 
fuse  to  sanction  it.  I  will  not  have  a  thing  to  do  with 
it.  If  you  make  this  raid,  I  leave  the  camp." 

Smith  leered.  "That's  awful;  but  I  think  the  camp 
will  stagger  along." 

Raymond  spoke.  "I'm  not  involved  in  the  present 
disagreement,  so  that  my  advice  is  disinterested,  but 
as  you've  ridden  up  and  asked  me,  I  give  it  as  my 
opinion  that  Larned  is  right.  You  can  stand  off  a 
sheriff  once  or  twice,  and  you  might  even  stand  off  a 
regiment  of  militia,  but  you  can't  stand  off  the  United 
States  army,  and  that's  what  you'll  run  up  against  in 
the  end.  Jack,  you  ought  to  have  sense  enough  to 
keep  out  of  this." 

205 


Hesper 

Munro  smiled.  "I'm  only  the  military  arm  of  gov 
ernment.  I'm  not  making  laws;  I  execute  them." 

"Why  not  call  a  meeting  and  put  it  to  a  vote?" 
asked  Smith. 

"I  know  why,"  replied  Brock.  "Larned  is  afraid 
it  will  carry." 

Larned  leaped  to  his  feet.  "I  admit  it!  I  don't 
want  the  word  to  go  out  that  this  raid  has  been  voted 
on  by  the  union.  With  the  camp  boiling  with  excite 
ment,  it  might  carry.  Outsiders  must  be  taught  the 
difference  between  the  action  of  the  mob  and  the  will 
of  the  organization." 

Smith  was  brutally  plain.  "  It  isn't  your  say.  You're 
only  an  outsider  yourself.  It's  Carter's  place  to  call 
the  meeting  and  discuss  what  we  are  to  do.  A  half- 
dozen  of  us  have  laid  ourselves  liable  by  doing  duty 
for  the  union ;  now,  the  question  is  whether  the  union 
is  going  to  stand  by  us  or  sneak  and  leave  us  to  eat 
dirt  in  a  valley  jail." 

"You  had  no  sanction  from  the  union." 

"I  know  we  didn't  —  no  official  sanction;  but  you 
know  perfectly  well  that  the  men  were  with  us  then, 
and  they  are  with  us  now,  every  one  of  them." 

A  rap  on  the  door  startled  them  all.  It  was  like  trie 
tap  of  the  finger  of  fate.  Munro  opened  the  door,  and 
Dolan,  the  reporter,  entered.  "Hello,  lads,"  he  called, 
easily,  "what's  doin'?" 

They  all  shouted,  "Hello,  Jim!"  And  Larned, 
starting  forward.,  exclaimed: 

"Any  news?" 

"Well,  rather.  The  sheriff,  with  a  hundred  men  and 
a  special  train,  is  at  Trinchera.  He  means  business 
this  time,  lads." 

206 


Raymond    Opposes   Violence 

There  was  a  moment's  hush,  and  then  Smith  roared 
out:  "He  can  have  it!  We'll  meet  him!" 

A  small  Irishman  leaped  into  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
wild  as  a  hawk.  "Mate  him?  By  the  piper,  but  we'll 
mate  him!  We'll  make  him  drink  blood!" 

"Shut  up,"  said  Munro.  "You  howling  Murphys 
make  me  tired.  Think  this  is  a  clubbing-match?  This 
is  war,  man — war!" 

"Yes,"  said  Raymond,  "it  is  war,  and  the  best  thing 
you  and  Smith  and  the  others  named  in  the  indict 
ment  can  do  for  the  camp  is  to  hit  a  Western  trail  and 
touch  the  high  places  only." 

Smith  snorted.     "Oh,  h — !     You  farmers — " 

A  glint  in  Munro 's  eye  stopped  him  as  the  gleam  of  a 
knife  might  have  done.  "Don't  get  gay  with  Rob 
Raymond,  old  sport.  He  grew  up  with  a  gun  in  his 
hand,  and  he's  my  friend." 

The  roomful  of  men  now  gathered  into  groups  to  dis 
cuss  the  certainty.  Dolan,  gay  with  excitement,  drew 
round  him  Carter,  Lamed,  and  Collingwood.  Smith  and 
Denver  Dan  were  the  centre  of  another  squad,  while  Ray 
mond  took  Munro  aside  and  earnestly  pleaded:  "See 
here,  old  man,  you  must  keep  out  of  this.  It  isn't  your 
funeral,  but  it  will  be  if  you  don't  vamoose  the  ranch." 

"I  can't  go  back  on  the  boys  now,  Rob.  They  need 
my  military  training;  and,  besides,  I  am  in  it.  I  won't 
sit  back  and  see  the  district  done  up  by  these  thugs 
who  never  earned  an  honest  dollar  in  their  lives.  And 
your  friend  Barnett — what  good  is  he  on  earth  ?  Just  a 
blood-sucker  on  the  bare  back  of  labor.  I'm  with  the 
boys,  and  if  my  experience  can  do  'em  any  good,  I'm 
ready." 

"  I  know  how  you  feel,  Jack,  but  this  is  desperate 
207 


Hesper 

business.     A  fight  with  the  sheriff  will  set  the  whole 
country  against  the  miners." 

Munro  smiled  contemptuously.  "He  won't  fight. 
A  round  of  shots  in  the  air  will  send  him  hot-footing 
it  back  to  the  Springs.  It's  all  a  farce." 

"Be  careful.     The  farce  may  turn  into  tragedy  at  a 

moment's  notice.     These  miners  are  idle  and  full  of 

liquor.     Men  like  Kelly  who  have  women  to  protect — " 

Munro  caught  at  this.     "By-the-way,  who  was  the 

'femme'?     My  word!  she's  a  peach." 

Raymond's  tone  was  coldly  indifferent.  "Miss  Ru 
pert  is  from  New  York  City — Barnett's  cousin.  She  is 
here  to  look  after  her  brother  Louis.  I  was  not  think 
ing  of  her  so  much  as  of  Mrs.  Kelly  and  other  women 
who  can't  get  away." 

"  Well,  she's  a  smooth  piece  of  goods.  I  can  tell  silk 
from  bombazine,  even  in  the  dark.  Her  voice  was  like 
satin ;  made  me  think  of  Allie  Birbeck — you  remember 
her;  carried  me  back  to  'Lovers'  Lane.'  I'm  just  as 
much  of  a  'spoonoid'  as  ever.  How  long  does  she 
stay?" 

Raymond  grew  brusque  of  tone.  "  I  don't  know — a 
day  or  two,  I  reckon." 

Larned's  voice,  rising  high  and  cutting  above  the 
others,  interposed.  "Then  I  leave.  You  are  crazy. 
You  can't  hold  this  hill  with  a  million  Gatling-guns. 
The  national  committee  will  not  stand  for  it.  Good 
bye."  Clapping  his  hat  on  his  head,  he  walked  out  of 
the  room,  his  white  face  set  in  a  furious  frown. 

Brock  roared  out:  "Call  a  meeting,  Carter,  and  we'll 
carry  it  our  way.  To  blazes  with  the  national  com 
mittee!" 

Carter,  however,  was  scared  blue  by  Larned's  de- 
208 


Raymond    Opposes    Violence 

spairing  retreat,  and  refused.     "We've  got  to  go  slow. 
We  can't  win  without  help.     I  won't  make  the  call." 

San  Juan  Smith,  with  flaming  face,  shouted,  furious 
ly:  "Then  we'll  do  it  without  your  sanction.  The  ex 
ecutive  board  will  act." 

Raymond,  on  the  doorstep,  made  a  last  appeal  to 
Munro.  "Jack,  you  can't  afford  to  go  into  this  thing 
with  Smith.  Keep  out  of  it.  It's  bad  business  all 
around.  It's  one  thing  to  strike,  and  another  thing  to 
resist  authority.  See  this  street!" 

In  some  way  word  had  already  passed  along  the  ridge 
that  the  sheriff  was  actually  on  the  road,  and  that  he 
would  reach  the  end  of  the  railway  in  mid-afternoon, 
and  a  great  throng  was  packed  round  a  man  on  horse 
back  who  was  good-naturedly  trying  to  force  his  way 
towards  headquarters. 

"That's  one  of  my  scouts,"  said  Munro,  "with  news 
of  the  invaders,"  and  he  pushed  off  into  the  crowd, 
while  Raymond,  with  serious  face  and  slow  step,  went 
down  the  path  towards  his  mine. 

"They're  going  to  fight,"  he  said  to  Kelly. 

"Fight?  Of  course  they'll  fight!  They'll  go  down 
and  drive  the  sheriff's  men  like  sheep.  But  what  then? 
The  crazy  jacks!" 

"Do  you  think  we  ought  to  tell  the  women — are  they 
in  danger?" 

Kelly  was  reflective.  "Not  now.  The  sheriff  will 
hardly  reach  the  hill  this  time.  He'll  go  back.  The  au 
thorities  and  the  newspapers  will  chew  the  rag  for  a 
couple  of  weeks,  and  then — we'll  be  up  against  it!" 

"All  the  same,  Matt,  I  wear  my  guns  from  this  on, 
and  one  of  us  must  stand  guard  at  night.     The  camp 
is  filling  with  dangerous  men." 
14  209 


Hesper 

At  Kelly's  invitation,  Raymond  and  Louis  took  noon 
day  dinner  with  him.  It  was  a  most  delicious  meal  to 
Raymond,  and  a  pleasantly  exciting  one  to  Ann,  for  she 
confessed  to  having  cooked  the  eggs  and  potatoes.  All 
reference  to  the  trouble  on  the  hill  was  jocular.  The 
roaring  savagery  of  the  Golden  Horn  saloon  seemed  of 
another  world,  having  no  possible  connection  with 
the  peace  and  sunshine  and  homely  joy  of  the  Kelly 
cabin. 

The  old  mountaineer  seemed  to  take  it  lightly. 
"They  must  fight  their  own  battles.  I  had  nothing 
to  do  with  bringing  on  the  strike,  and  I'll  have  nothing 
to  do  with  stavin'  it  off." 

"It  is  a  regular  strike?"  asked  Ann. 

"It  is,  and  it  is  not.  The  big  mines  are  all  shut 
down — so  far,  it  is  a  lockout.  But  the  men  refuse  to 
work  shifts  of  nine  hours  for  eight  hours'  pay.  To  that 
extent  it  is  a  strike." 

"The  trouble  all  springs  from  a  small  group  of  reck 
less  desperadoes,"  said  Raymond.  "  The  main  body 
of  the  men  are  ready  to  submit  to  law,  but  men  like 
Smith  and  Denver  Dan  and  Brock  must  either  fight 
or  flee,  and  they  prefer  to  fight.  But  what  they  do 
doesn't  concern  us.  We  are  going  right  along  in  our 
small  way.  Our  men  are  all  outside  the  union." 

Their  calm  and  confident  answers  allayed  all  fear  in 
Ann's  mind,  and  she  was  girlishly  gay  as  she  brought 
in  the  pudding  which  she  had  made  "all  by  herself,"  as 
Mrs.  Kelly  said.  The  men  called  for  second  helpings 
at  once,  and  Louis  asked  for  the  privilege  of  scraping 
the  dish.  "You  are  over-acting  your  parts,"  replied 
Ann,  but  she  flushed  with  pleasure  nevertheless. 

Mrs.  Kelly  spoke  in  praise  of  her  to  Raymond  (she 
210 


Raymond    Opposes    Violence 

had  divined  his  love).     "You  should  'a'  seen  her — 
working  every  blessed  minute  this  forenoon,  Robert — " 

"You  must  not  compliment  me  too  much,"  inter 
rupted  Ann.  "Maids  are  sometimes  spoiled  by  too 
much  kindness.  Are  there  shops  near?  We  need  a  few 
things  to  make  us  comfortable ;  and  my  valises,  when 
can  I  get  them?" 

Raymond  replied:  "I  will  take  you  down  to  Bozle 
to-morrow,  if  you  care  to  go.  The  shops  are  better 
there  and  the  streets  less  turbulent." 

"I'd  like  to  go  very  much,"  said  Ann,  on  a  sudden 
impulse.  "I'd  like  to  go  this  afternoon.  Can  we 
drive?  How  far  is  it?" 

"We  will  ride,  if  you  are  not  afraid  of  our  broncos 
and  steep  trails.  It  will  be  more  comfortable  than  a 
wagon." 

"You  need  not  worry  about  Ann,"  boasted  Louis. 
"She's  been  riding  down  at  the  Springs.  She's  hard 
ened  to  it." 

"Very  well,"  said  Raymond.  "After  you've  rested 
for  an  hour  or  two,  I'll  bring  round  the  horses." 

"Good-morrow,  friends!"  A  clear  voice  made  them 
all  turn.  Jack  Munro,  booted  and  spurred,  stood  in  the 
door.  "And  how  is  the  lady  of  the  silken  voice?" 

Kelly  greeted  him  coldly.  "Hello,  Jack;  come  in 
and  eat." 

"Much  obliged,  me  lord,  but  I've  already  eat.  I 
came  round  to  see  how  the  lady  stood  her  ride  with  me 
up  the  hill." 

Ann  rose  and  faced  him.  "Are  you  the  horseman 
who  met  us?" 

"The  very  same,  lady.  I  don't  often  hear  voices 
like  yours,  and  I  wanted  to  see  if  the  face  and  voice 

211 


Hesper 

were  of  like  quality.  They  are,"  he  added,  with  a 
glance  of  unabashed  admiration.  "Introduce  me, 
Rob." 

Raymond  reluctantly  complied.  "  Miss  Rupert,  this 
is  Mr.  Jack  Munro." 

Munro  stepped  forward  and  held  out  a  very  hand 
some  hand,  and  Ann  could  not  refuse  to  take  it.  He 
was  smaller  than  Raymond,  and  seemed  hardly  out  of 
his  teens,  as  he  stood  there  smiling  brightly,  his  bared 
head  lightly  poised  on  shapely  shoulders,  and  some 
magic  in  his  smile  made  Raymond  and  Kelly  seem  for 
the  moment  cold  and  reserved.  His  assurance,  his 
frankness,  amused  her. 

' '  I  came  to  tell  the  lady  that  no  harm  befell  Colonel 
Barnett,  her  escort.  He  was  driven  back  to  Grand 
View  early  this  morning,  and  is  at  home  ere  this." 

"Thank  you  for  your  good  cheer,"  said  Ann.  "I 
was  not  so  sure  of  your  kindly  intentions  last  night." 

He  smiled  again,  and  his  white  teeth  shone.  "I 
must  have  seemed  a  bandit.  I'm  very  glad  I  went  to 
meet  Barnett.  Brock  might  have  made  you  more 
trouble,  and  I  would  have  missed  the  pleasure  of  be 
ing  your  guide  and  protector." 

Kelly  growled  out,  "  Kape  your  murderin'  scalawags 
as  far  from  this  cabin  as  ye  can." 

"I  will  see  that  you  are  not  disturbed." 

"You  speak  as  one  having  authority,"  remarked 
Ann. 

"I  am  captain  of  the  vedettes,"  he  replied. 

"What  are  they?" 

"A  company  of  mounted  police  which  I  have  or 
ganized  to  keep  order  here  in  the  camp.  The  lockout 
leaves  many  men  idle,  and  the  local  authorities  need 

212 


Raymond    Opposes   Violence 

help  to  maintain  peace  and  quiet.  My  force  repre 
sents  the  union  and  its  desire  to  prevent  violence  in  the 
camp.  You  are  quite  safe  here  under  our  protection." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  replied  Ann.  "But  aren't  you 
one  of  those  for  whom  the  sheriff  comes?" 

Munro  laughed  a  silent,  boyish  laugh.  "I  believe  I 
am  included  in  his  list  of  notables,  but,  I  assure  you, 
the  honor  is  quite  undeserved." 

"  'Tis  true  he  kicked  Mackay  down  the  hill,  and  put 
the  mouth  of  his  gun  to  his  ear,"  said  Kelly,  "but  that's 
a  trifle  not  worth  mentioning." 

Munro  winked.  "A  mere  practical  joke."  He  rose 
and,  with  most  richly  modulated  voice,  said:  "You 
have  made  Sky -Town  the  most  distinguished  of  camps. 
Stay  with  us,  for  if  I  hear  you  are  leaving  I  shall  be 
sorely  tempted  to  put  a  cordon  round  the  hill  to  keep 
you  in — " 

"I  am  not  thinking  of  leaving,"  replied  Ann.  "I 
am  this  moment  planning  to  stay." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  that.  I  repeat,  there  is 
not  the  slightest  danger,  and  I  am  entirely  at  your 
service." 

"Thank  you  again,  Captain  Munro." 

With  the  punctilious  grace  of  a  dancing-master  he 
bo  wed -himself  out,  swung  to  his  saddle,  and  galloped 
away. 

Raymond  and  Kelly  looked  at  each  other  a  moment 
in  silence;  then  Kelly  broke  forth:  "The  smooth 
tongued  little  divil!  Wouldn't  that  frost  you?  He's 
to  insure  peace  and  tranquillity  to  the  Kelly  home — 
you  understand?" 

"All  the  same,  Matt,"  said  Raymond,  "I  feel  safer 
for  his  presence  in  the  camp." 

213 


Hesper 

Ann  listened  to  these  comments  with  interest.  "Is 
he  really  so  important?" 

Raymond  did  not  care  to  speak  ill  of  him  at  the 
moment.  "He  has  great  influence  among  the  men. 
In  case  of  disorder  he  would  be  a  valuable  ally." 

"Jupiter,  but  he  can  ride!"  exclaimed  Louis,  who 
had  watched  him  gallop  away.  "He  must  have  been 
a  cow-boy  sometime." 

"  More  like  a  cavalryman,"  remarked  Kelly,  shrewdly. 
"  He  holds  his  reins  like  a  trooper,  and  his  leg  hangs  not 
like  a  cow-boy's." 

"When  shall  we  start  on  our  trip?"  asked  Ann,  turn 
ing  to  Raymond. 

"  I  will  bring  the  horses  round  very  soon."  As  they 
stepped  outside,  he  turned  to  Kelly  and  asked,  in  a  low 
voice,  "Do  you  see  any  objection  to  this  trip  to  Bozle?" 

"  Divil  a  bit.  The  sheriff  will  find  Jack  and  his  men 
waitin'  for  him  on  the  road.  He'll  get  no  farther  than 
Sage  Hen  flat  this  night.  I'm  goin'  to  ride  down  the 
hill  meself,  just  to  know  what's  goin'  on.  Go  ahead, 
lad;  only  don't  loiter."  The  big  fellow  smiled.  "Get 
back  before  sunset,  whatever  ye  do." 

Raymond  resented  Munro's  call  and  forced  intro 
duction  to  Ann  more  deeply  than  he  cared  to  admit 
even  to  Kelly.  It  hurt  him  to  think  that  Ann's  hand 
had  lain  within  the  clasp  of  a  man  to  whom  women  had 
ever  been  merely  a  lower  order  of  life — to  be  used  as 
playthings — even  at  that  moment  he  was  fresh  from 
the  kiss  of  a  poor,  doting  woman  who  had  renounced 
all  the  rest  of  the  world  for  him,  and  with  whom  he 
made  his  home.  Even  Kelly,  accustomed  to  the  law 
less  sex  relations  of  a  mining-camp,  was  disturbed  by 
Munro's  uninvited  entrance  to  his  home  at  such  a  time. 

214 


Raymond    Opposes    Violence 

"And  yet  I  cannot  say  anything  to  her,"  Raymond 
said  to  himself.  "I  can't  tell  her  what  his  life  is.  I 
dare  not  even  hint  at  it.  But  I  can  stop  his  com 
ing  " — and  his  lips  straightened  grimly — "and  that  I 
will  do!" 


XV 
Ann    Rides    with    Raymond 

r  I  ^HE  prospect  of  a  ride  down  the  trail  alone  with  a 
X  beautiful  girl  fairly  unnerved  the  young  miner.  It 
was  so  much  more  than  he  had  permitted  himself  to  hope 
for.  "What  shall  I  say  to  her?"  he  aske'd  himself,  in 
wonder  of  his  temerity  in  proposing  such  a  trip. 

Ann,  on  her  part,  became  suddenly  very  thoughtful 
of  Mrs.  Kelly,  and  asked  her  if  she  did  not  wish  to  go. 

"Saints  alive,  no!"  answered  the  small  wife.  "The 
only  horse  I  can  ride  is  a  burro,  and  I  fall  off  that  if  it 
trots.  I  do  not  expect  to  leave  this  hill  till  I  go  in  a 
carriage,  and  by  that  token  I  do  not  mean  a  hearse." 
She  smiled  brightly.  "  I'm  a  tough  wan.  Perhaps  I'll 
live  to  ride  in  me  own  chaise  yet." 

"I  sincerely  hope  you  may,"  replied  Ann. 

At  two-thirty,  prompt  as  a  groom,  Raymond  brought 
the  horses  round  to  the  door.  Ann  was  delighted  with 
Kelly's  big  bay.  There  was  something  appealing  in 
his  eyes,  so  deep  and  brown,  something  trustworthy  in 
the  carriage  of  his  head. 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  you, old  fellow, "she  said, patting 
his  Chining  neck.  "You  are  not  a  bronco;  you  are  a 
steed." 

Even  as  she  spoke,  Tommy,  the  eldest  lad,  caught 
the  horse  by  the  tail,  and,  planting  his  bare  feet  on  his 

216 


Ann    Rides    with    Raymond 

gambrel  joints,  swung  to  and  fro,  shrieking  with  de 
light. 

"Get  down,  you  little  monkey!"  shouted  Ray 
mond;  "you'll  be  kicked  to  kingdom  come." 

Mrs.  Kelly  only  laughed.  "He  is  used  to  the  lads," 
she  said.  "They  scramble  all  over  him." 

Mid- winter  though  it  was,  the  sun  was  clear  and 
warm,  and  as  they  went  winding  down  the  trail  to  the 
southwest  Ann  exclaimed  over  the  exquisite  quality  of 
the  air,  the  crystalline  clarity  of  the  distant  peaks,  and 
the  cloudless  serenity  of  the  sky.  "  I  have  never  been 
in  a  land  where  the  sunshine  was  so  abounding,  so  con 
stant.  Does  it  never  snow  here  in  winter?" 

"Oh  yes,  indeed!  Sometimes  the  snow-fall  is  im 
mense,  but  it  comes  later." 

After  a  short  and  steep  descent  they  came  out  into  a 
wagon-road,  and  were  able  to  ride  side  by  side,  and 
Raymond's  breath  quickened  as  he  looked  into  Ann's 
laughing  face.  Never  had  she  seemed  so  simple,  so 
girlish,  and  his  courage  came  back  to  him. 

"It  has  been  a  long  time  since  I  rode  as  escort  to  a 
lady.  You  ride  well." 

"Please  don't  think  you  must  praise  me.  I  am  not 
a  valiant  horsewoman.  I've  only  begun  to  ride  since 
I  came  to  the  mountains."  The  novelty  of  the  trip,  the 
splendor  of  the  way,  and  something  in  her  escort's 
voice  carried  her  quite  out  of  her  impassive  self.  She 
felt  like  giving  spur  to  her  horse  for  a  wild  gallop  down 
the  mountain-side. 

Raymond,  whose  eyes  scarcely  left  her  flushed  face 
and  shining  eyes,  was  bravely  attempting  to  keep  im 
personal. 

"You  must  be  prepared  for  very  poor  goods  and  very 
217 


Hesper 

small  stores.  Bozle  is  by  no  means  to  be  compared 
even  with  Valley  Springs.  Everything  is  temporary. 
No  one  really  intends  to  live  there;  they  are  all  just 
staying,  and  I  fear  the  millinery  is  not  of  the  latest 
fashion." 

"What  a  power  lies  in  the  idea  of  gold!  See  the 
people  who  have  come  from  all  over  the  world !  Don 
tells  me  that  every  European  language  is  spoken  here. 
Did  I  see  Perry,  the  Mexican  boy,  at  your  cabin  this 
morning?" 

"Yes,  Perry  is  here,  and  so  is  Baker.  You  have 
cause  to  remember  Baker." 

Ann  laughed.  "He  was  very  amusing.  It  really 
was  a  first-rate  farce,  or  would  have  been,  only  your 
rage  at  my  coming  was  so  real."  Her  glance  at  him 
was  arch  with  humor. 

She  had  not  spoken  so  freely  and  so  candidly  since 
his  illness,  and  he  hastened  to  say:  "To  tell  the  truth, 
I  was  expecting  to  see  an  individual  with  glasses  and 
a  reticule.  I  really  began  to  soften  the  moment  you 
came  in,  though  I  didn't  intend  to  show  it." 

"Your  manner  was  quite  reserved.  Oh,  what  a 
singular  town!  What  tiny  houses!"  she  exclaimed, 
as  they  rounded  a  point  and  came  in  sight  of  the 
lower  camp. 

"Don't  misjudge  people  for  their  homes,"  he  warn- 
ingly  said.  "In  this  log-cabin  lives  our  chief  banker. 
In  this  elegant  aspen  bungalow  lives  a  celebrated  gam 
bler." 

"Whose  is  the  big  house  with  the  cupola?" 

He  was  a  little  hesitant.  "A  certain  Mrs.  Rantoul. 
Her  husband  was  a  Mexican,  I  believe." 

"  She  must  be  incredibly  rich."  Ann's  curiosity  seemed 
218 


Ann    Rides    with    Raymond 

satisfied.  "Please  take  me  to  a  shop  where  I  can  get 
some  chairs  and  a  small  table.  I  am  going  to  present 
Mrs  Kelly  with  an  easy-chair." 

"Very  well,"  said  he;  "I  know  the  very  place,  but 
please  do  not  go  about  the  streets  alone.  Of  course 
you  are  perfectly  safe,  but  you  are  a  stranger  and  might 
wander  into  the  wrong  doors.  Wait  till  I  tie  the  horses 
and  do  one  or  two  errands,  then  I  will  join  you,  and  we 
can  go  where  you  please." 

"Very  well,"  she  replied,  with  a  feeling  of  pleasure 
in  his  care  of  her.  "  I  will  want  to  visit  several  shops." 

The  keeper  of  the  furniture  store  was  a  portly  Jewess. 
Her  broad  face  shone  with  good-humor  and  the  most 
recent  application  of  a  towel.  The  smell  of  fish  was 
in  her  ample  garments  as  she  came  forward  to  meet  her 
customer. 

"And  what  can  I  do  for  the  lady?"  she  asked,  alertly. 

Ann  referred  to  her  list  and  named  the  small  pieces 
she  needed,  while  the  Jewess  stood  with  ears  intent, 
her  eyes  securing  every  detail  of  the  customer's  dress. 

"She  is  a  New-Yorker,"  she  thought,  and  at  once 
put  her  thought  into  question. 

Ann  replied,  coldly,  "Yes,  I'm  from  New  York  City." 

"I  fought  so.  We  don't  see  such  clothes  out  here, 
not  very  often.  How  did  you  get  so  far  away?"  She 
threw  out  her  hands.  "Ah,  will  I  ever  see  Sixth  Ave 
nue  again?  Nine  years  we  hafe  been  in  the  West. 
Benjamin  is  satisfied  to  be  here  among  the  mountains, 
but  I — I  am  hungry  for  a  sight  of  the  good  markets  and 
the  city  crowds.  If  we  had  our  little  shop  on  Sixth 
Avenue  once  more,  I  would  not  leave  it — no,  not  to  be 
a  millionaire.  What  business  are  you  in?"  she  paused 
amid  her  lamentations  to  ask. 

219 


Hesper 

"I  am  visiting  some  friends  on  the  hill,"  answered 
Ann,  and  smiled  to  herself  as  she  added,  "The  Kelly s." 

"I  know  them.  They  are  good  people,"  said  Mrs. 
Benjamin,  in  a  tone  which  plainly  indicated  that  her 
customer's  social  position  had  been  bettered  by  her 
connection  with  Matthew  Kelly.  The  humor  of  this 
appealed  to  Ann  from  moment  to  moment,  as  the  sales 
woman  went  on.  "The  Kellys  buy. all  their  furniture 
of  me,  and  they  pay  cash,  but  I  would  trust  them  to 
any  amount.  Matt  Kelly  is  good  for  every  cent  he 
promises." 

The  aristocrat  found  herself  in  a  relation  to  this 
sturdy  shopkeeper  which  she  had  never  before  occu 
pied.  Mrs.  Benjamin  treated  her  as  a  friend  and  an 
equal,  and,  as  business  was  not  pressing,  seemed  ready 
to  gossip  indefinitely.  "The  worst  of  it  is,  miss  —  I 
didn't  catch  the  name — "  She  paused  expectantly. 

Ann  reluctantly  gave  up  her  name:  "Miss  Rupert." 

"  Rupert?  It  is  a  German  name.  The  worst  of  trade 
is  here.  You  cannot  be  friends  with  all  your  customers. 
The  women  who  come  in,  our  best  customers,"  she  said, 
significantly,  "are  not  the  kind  you  can  visit  and  be 
neighborly  with.  They  live  on  the  street  back  of  here, 
and  they  are  a  nuisance.  They  drink,  they  swear,  they 
fight;  but  they  buy  furniture,  and  so  I  must  treat  'em 
right.  But  my  children  are  now  so  big — Sammie  is 
eight,  and  Sarah  is  ten — I  feel  we  must  move  away  to 
where  we  can  give  them  good  schooling  and  good  so 
ciety." 

As  she  talked,  Ann  ceased  to  smile  in  amused  con 
tempt,  and  came  to  see  the  human  side  of  this  rule, 
sagacious  woman  of  business.  "She  is,  after  all  a  good 
wife  and  a  faithful  and  loving  mother."  Her  anxiety 

220 


Ann    Rides    with    Raymond 

that  her  children  should  grow  up  good  and  clean  dig 
nified  her — made  even  her  gross  curiosity,  her  tactless 
ness,  of  small  account. 

When  Raymond  came  in,  he  was  amazed  to  find  the 
two  women  seated  side  by  side  in  bright  and  shining 
new  rocking-chairs,  deep  in  a  discussion  of  the  duty  of 
parents  to  their  children. 

The  fact  that  Raymond,  whom  she  did  not  know, 
was  on  intimate  terms  with  Ann,  caused  Mrs.  Benja 
min  to  beam  broadly  on  them  both.  She  did  not  hesi 
tate  to  say,  "Will  you  have  your  man  look  at  the  tables, 
or  shall  we  just  go  ahead?" 

With  a  laughing  look  at  Raymond,  Ann  demurely 
said:  "I  don't  think  we  will  need  to  trouble  him.  I 
see  he  has  a  newspaper;  he  can  read  that." 

"  Give  a  man  a  paper  and  he  is  deaf,  dumb,  and  blind 
to  his  wife  or  anybody  else,"  Mrs.  Benjamin  thereupon 
remarked,  with  conviction.  "Well,  now,  come  along, 
and  I'll  see  what  I  can  do  on  a  table.  Will  you  take 
ash  or  elm?" 

Raymond  would  have  been  more  highly  amused  had 
he  not  been  filled  with  anxiety.  The  street  was  full  of 
men  drawn  together  by  a  report  that  the  sheriff  had 
stolen  a  march  on  Sky-Town,  and  was  already  on  his 
way  to  intimidate  Bozle  and  demand  those  for  whom 
his  warrants  called.  Horsemen  were  galloping  up  the 
hill  to  warn  the  miners,  and  the  chief  of  police  and 
mayor  were  mingling  with  the  growing  throng,  plead 
ing  for  peace.  The  whole  camp  resembled  a  nest  of 
ants  into  which  an  ox  had  planted  a  hoof. 

Ann  observed  Raymond's  abstraction  and  restless 
ness,  and  asked,  "Are  you  in  haste  to  return?" 

He  answered,  quite  calmly,  "Yes,  we  ought  to  start 

221 


Hesper 

back  as  soon  as  we  can;  but  not  till  you  make  your 
purchases,  of  course." 

Mrs.  Benjamin  seemed  to  love  each  article,  and  de 
tailed  its  merits  and  complained  of  the  high  cost  of 
freighting,  all  of  which  took  time.  Ann  lost  her  sense 
of  amusement  at  last,  and  cut  short  voluble  explana 
tions  with  a  curt  "Very  well,  I  will  take  that.  You 
will  send  them  for  me?" 

Raymond  stood  at  the  door  talking  with  a  perturbed 
man  in  gray  clothes,  who  carried  a  bandanna  in  his 
hand,  and  whose  face  was  deeply  lined  with  anxiety. 
He  seemed  to  be  in  a  profuse  perspiration,  and  as  Ann 
drew  near  she  heard  him  exclaiming,  in  a  choked  voice : 
"My  God,  if  they  begin  shooting  I  don't  know  where 
it  will  end.  The  whole  town  is  mad  as  hornets,  and 
some  of  the  fellers  are  plumb  crazy."  Seeing  Ann  ap 
proaching,  he  bowed  clumsily  and  edged  away. 

"Who  was  your  nervous  friend?"  asked  the  girl. 

"That  was  the  mayor.  He  is  scared  blue  by  the 
news  that  the  sheriff  and  his  men  are  marching  on 
Bozle.  It  stands  us  in  hand  to  mount  and  get  away 
at  once." 

Ann's  face  became  grave.  "  Is  there  danger  of  shoot 
ing?" 

"There  is.  Bozle  is  in  sympathy  with  the  miners, 
and  hates  the  valley,  and  the  sheriff's  posse  is  consid 
ered  a  mob  of  outsiders.  The  streets  are  rilled  with 
men,  and  some  reckless  fellow  may  fire  a  shot  and 
bring  on  a  desperate  struggle.  I  am  going  after  the 
horses.  Please  don't  step  outside  the  door  till  I  come 
back." 

"What  is  that?"  asked  Mrs.  Benjamin,  sharply. 
"What  is  going  on?" 

222 


Ann    Rides    with    Raymond 

Ann  answered,  "The  sheriff  is  coming  to  arrest 
some  men." 

"He  is!     When?" 

"Immediately,  I  think.     Mr.  Raymond  said — " 

"Oh,  my  little  ones!  They  are  playing  outside. 
Keep  the  door  while  I  bring  them  in,"  exclaimed  the 
mother,  and  scuttled  out  like  a  distracted  goose. 

Ann  stood  at  the  door  watching  the  miners  as  they 
boiled  out  of  saloon  doors  like  bees,  and  eddied  and 
swirled  into  knots  and  close-packed  circles.  Here  and 
there  a  man  could  be  heard  shouting  a  command,  and 
horsemen  began  to  clatter  up  and  down  the  dusty 
street.  It  was  all  so  unreal  to  the  city  girl,  so  like  a 
shadowy  moving-picture,  that  fear  was  not  awakened 
in  her  heart.  Strange  to  say,  the  tumult  enthralled 
her— swept  her  out  of  herself.  Near  her  on  the  walk 
men  were  snarling  threats  and  curses,  making  use  of 
phrases  whose  grotesque  power  thrilled  her  even  though 
she  could  not  understand  why  one  man  should  call  an 
other  such  names.  Once  a  decent-faced  young  fellow 
caught  sight  of  her  and  struck  the  others  into  silence, 
then  turned  to  her  and  said,  quietly,  yet  with  author 
ity:  "Go  inside,  miss.  There  11  be  hell  to  pay  here  in 
ten  minutes." 

She  hurriedly  withdrew  into  the  shelter  of  the  door 
way  till  he  had  passed.  Then,  overcome  by  the  hunger 
to  see,  she  returned  to  her  former  position  just  as  four 
men,  inflamed  of  drink  and  belching  terrible  threats, 
turned  and  faced  her.  Beneath  their  gaze  she  shivered 
with  a  sense  of  her  weakness,  and  her  heart  went  out  to 
Raymond  in  trust  and  longing,  so  that  when  she  saw 
his  impassive  face  and  clear,  brown  eyes,  she  reached 
her  hand  to  him  with  an  impulse  to  be  shielded.  "  Oh, 

223 


Hesper 

these  terrible  men!"  she  cried  out.     "What  are  they 
going  to  do?" 

Raymond  was  breathing  rapidly.  "Some  one  has 
borrowed  our  horses,"  he  explained,  quietly,  "and  I 
must  ask  you  to  wait  a  little  longer  while  I  secure  an 
other  for  you." 

"Will  they  not  return  them?" 

"  I  am  afraid  not.  They  have  probably  gone  up  the 
hill  to  join  Munro's  men,  and  they  will  be  returned  at 
the  stable.  If  you  are  not  afraid — " 

"Oh  no,  I  am  not  afraid!" 

His  manner  was  unconsciously  that  of  the  lover  as 
he  added,  hurriedly:  "  I  shouldn't  have  allowed  you  to 
come,  but  I  had  no  idea  that  the  sheriff  would  dare  to 
visit  Bozle.  If  anything  should  happen  to  you — " 

"What  can  happen  to  me?  If  there  is  shooting, 
I  will  get  behind  the  counter — that  is  the  way  the 
people  all  do  when  Alkali  Ike  begins  to  whirl  his 
revolver — I've  read  the  comic  papers,  you  see." 

He  looked  at  her  in  admiration.  "I  don't  believe 
you  are  scared.  Well,  now,  stay  here  till  I  can  see 
what  I  can  do  about  a  horse." 

Again  Ann  stood  alone  in  the  doorway,  watching  a 
group  of  men  crouching  on  the  flat  roof  of  a  two-story 
building  opposite.  Two  of  them  had  rifles  in  their 
hands,  and  some  man  was  shouting  from  the  walk, 
"Keep  them  guns  out  o'  sight!" 

Mrs.  Benjamin,  glowering  fiercely  in  maternal 
anxiety,  came  down  the  walk  driving  two  weeping 
children  before  her.  "Get  on  there!  What  do  you 
mean  by  running  away  so?  You  shall  go  to  bed  now 
to  pay  for  this!  Did  any  one  call?"  she  asked  of  Ann. 

"No  one — except  Mr.  Raymond." 
224 


Ann    Rides    with    Raymond 

"I  must  lock  the  door.  There  is  going  to  be  war. 
Oh,  I  wish  Benjamin  was  here;  he  is  gone  to  Valley 
Springs  to-day.  Keep  my  door  for  one  minute  while 
I  lock  these  truants  up,"  and  she  disappeared  in  the 
rooms  at  the  back  of  the  store,  whence  her  loud  voice 
rang  in  reprimand. 

The  girl  began  to  tingle  with  a  foreknowledge  of  vio 
lence.  From  a  hundred  sources  she  drew  her  fears. 
It  was  as  if  the  voices  in  the  street  were  the  moan  of 
leaves,  the  whistle  of  twigs,  the  creaking  of  branches  in 
the  storm  wind.  These  men,  who  had  amused  her  a 
few  moments  before,  suddenly  became  squat  and  sinis 
ter  and  without  pity.  All  that  she  had  ever  read  of 
Western  violence  and  mountain  insubordination  rose 
in  her  mind,  and  as  she  listened  a  wild  cry  went  up 
from  the  roof-tops — "Here  they  come!" 

The  throngs  below  uttered  answering  shouts;  men 
began  to  run  to  and  fro  aimlessly,  filling  the  street 
facing  to  the  south.  In  the  back  room  the  perturbed 
mother  could  still  be  heard  expostulating  with  her 
rebellious  children.  Their  wails  added  something 
uncanny  to  the  roar  outside.  Men  passed  the  door, 
pushing,  trotting,  their  curses  weak  for  lack  of  breath, 
but  they  all  uttered  the  same  grotesque  phrase,  the 
same  singular  epithet  that  to  the  girl  seemed  both 
vulgar  and  comic.  It  was  evident  that  they  intended 
this  malediction  to  express  their  utter  contempt  and 
loathing  for  those  who  came  up  with  the  sheriff  from 
the  valley.  In  the  hands  of  hot-heads,  guns  began  to 
glitter.  Their  action  was  unreal,  spectacular;  but 
their  voices  shook  her,  benumbed  her. 

Raymond  came  hurrying  back,  his  lips  set  and 
resolute,  his  brow  frowning  with  anxiety.  "I  can- 
is  225 


Hesper 

not  find  a  horse  that  you  can  ride.     I  have  ordered  a 
team.     We  will  have  to  go  the  back  way  to  reach  it." 

A  wilder  yell  arose.  The  leaders  began  to  run 
down  the  street  which  led  to  the  south.  Ann  took 
hold  of  Raymond's  arm  with  nervous  clutch.  "What 
are  they  going  to  do?" 

"It's  hard  to  tell.  I  wish  we  were  safely  out  of 
this." 

"Can't  we  run?" 

"Run!  Dear  girl,  you  couldn't  walk  four  blocks 
in  this  altitude.  If  you  will  come  with  me  we  will 
cross  to  the  barn  and  get  our  carriage  there." 

Unconsciously  clinging  to  his  arm,  Ann  went  down 
the  back  street  as  in  a  dream.  A  row  of  mean  houses 
stood  close  to  the  walk.  A  small  and  rather  pretty 
woman  in  her  night-gown  leaned  in  a  shanty  door, 
laughing  drunkenly,  a  toothpick  in  her  mouth.  An 
old  hag  next  door  was  haranguing  three  or  four  di 
shevelled  female  heads  which  were  projecting  from 
the  windows  of  another  wretched  shack. 

"Stay  in,  I  tell  ye!  It's  no  good  you're  poking 
round.  Stay  in!" 

Every  door  on  that  street  seemed  to  have  its  slat 
tern  drab,  just  started  awake  like  a  lazy  dog,  aware 
of  danger  but  not  yet  in  terror.  One  of  them,  gay 
with  the  gayety  of  utter  recklessness,  cried  out  to 
Raymond,  "Hello,  Charley;  what's  all  the  row?" 

Others,  scared  into  respectful  speech,  stopped  Ray 
mond,  asking,  excitedly,  "Is  there  going  to  be  a 
fight?" 

"I  don't  think  so.  Go  inside!"  he  harshly  replied, 
and  hurried  on,  more  eager  to  take  Ann  out  of  this 
defilement  than  to  escape  bullets. 

226 


Ann    Rides    with    Raymond 

Ann's  lungs  were  aching,  and  a  terrible  pain  was  in 
her  head  and  breast. 

"Please  don't  hurry,"  she  gasped. 

He  halted  abruptly.  "I  beg  your  pardon.  I  hope 
I  haven't  winded  you.  We  have  only  a  few  steps 
to  go." 

As  the  girl  stood  breathing  hard  and  regaining  her 
strength  she  looked  about  at  the  half -clad  wantons, 
and  said,  "Are  all  the  women  of  Bozle  like  this?" 

"Oh  no;  this  is  the  very  street  you  shouldn't  have 
seen;  but  it  is  our  only  chance  to  reach  the  barn." 

They  were  already  too  late.  The  cross  street  was 
packed  with  men,  and,  looking  down  the  hill,  they  saw 
the  sheriff  and  his  posse  coming  six  abreast  like  a 
squad  of  cavalry,  riding  slowly  up  between  the  walls 
of  stern  and  silent  citizens  of  the  great  camp.  Each 
deputy  carried  a  rifle  across  the  pommel  of  his  sad 
dle,  and  at  their  head,  preceding  even  the  sheriff,  rode 
Matthew  Kelly.  His  head  was  bare,  and  in  his  hand 
a  long  revolver  gleamed.  There  was  something  in 
his  face,  in  the  lift  of  his  head,  that  awed  men.  As 
he  came  he  called  out,  not  loudly,  but  every  word 
could  be  heard: 

"Aisy  now,  boys!  Respect  the  law.  Aisy,  I  say. 
This  is  no  fight  of  yours.  Down  with  yer  guns;  there 
are  women  and  children  to  think  of.  Kape  the  peace." 

Raymond  looked  at  Ann  with  eyes  whose  light 
amazed  her.  "By  the  Lord,  I  wish  I  were  by  his 
side!"  He  spoke  through  his  set  teeth. 

"Go!"  she  said.    "  Do  not  mind  me.    Go  help  him." 

Her  voice  recalled  him. 

"No,  my  place  is  here,"  and  his  look  meant  more 
than  any  word  he  had  ever  dared  to  speak  to  her. 

227 


Hesper 

In  the  square  Kelly  halted,  and  the  sheriff,  throw 
ing  up  his  hand,  commanded  silence.  He  was  visibly 
trembling,  but  he  blustered  to  his  purpose.  "Where 
is  your  mayor  and  your  chief  of  police?" 

The  chief  stepped  forth.  "Here  I  am!  What  do 
you  want  of  me?" 

"I  want  you  to  deliver  to  me  the  men  who  assault 
ed  Mackay." 

The  chief  waved  his  hand  towards  the  hills.  "They 
are  up  there;  go  get  them!"  and  a  roar  of  derisive  ap 
plause  went  up. 

Kelly  raised  his  hand.  "  Boys,  hear  me!  This  is  the 
sheriff,  the  properly  constituted  authority  of  this  coun 
ty.  We  are  under  the  same  laws,  and  we  must  obey 
the  laws.  I  have  on  the  hill  yonder  a  wife  and  two 
babes.  I  came  down  here  to  do  what  I  could  to  keep 
the  peace,  and  I'll  kill  the  first  man  that  fires  a  shot. 
Be  quiet,  now,  and  listen  to  reason." 

The  sheriff,  gaining  courage,  took  up  the  theme.  "  I 
have  no  war  with  Bozle,"  he  said;  "I  came  to  get  the 
men  who  abused  Mackay  and  who  defied  my  authority." 

"Well,  go  get  them,"  repeated  a  man  in  the  crowd. 
"What  are  you  doing  here?  You  came  here  to  in 
timidate  us,  and  you  can't  do  it." 

While  they  listened,  Raymond  stood  shielding  Ann 
with  his  body,  ready  to  protect  her  from  harm.  The 
crowd  pressed  upon  them  so  tightly  that  flight  was 
for  the  moment  impossible.  His  hand  covered  her 
shoulder  as  she  sheltered  herself  beneath  his  arm. 
The  touch  of  her  soft  flesh  to  his  breast  exalted  him, 
gave  him  the  courage  of  a  lion.  No  one  noticed 
them,  so  tense  was  the  interest  in  the  sheriff  and  his 
harangue. 

228 


Ann    Rides    with    Raymond 

"You  came  here  to  intimidate  us,"  shouted  the 
chief  of  police,  "and  it  can't  be  done!" 

The  crowd,  moved  by  some  sinister  impulse,  closed 
round  the  sheriff  and  Kelly,  cutting  them  off  from 
the  main  body  of  the  deputies.  This  movement  open 
ed  a  way  of  escape,  and,  expecting  each  moment  to 
hear  the  crackle  of  guns,  Raymond  hurried  Ann 
across  the  street  and  into  the  musty  waiting-room  of 
the  livery-barn. 

"Where  is  that  team?"  he  shouted  to  the  hostler, 
who  was  looking  out  of  a  side  door. 
"The  boss  took  it." 
"Well,  get  me  another,  quick." 
"There's  the  mayor,"  gleefully  shouted  the  hostler, 
ignoring  Raymond's  command.     "And  Kelly's  speak 
ing  again;  he's  a  good  one." 

"Whose  horse  is  this  with  the  saddle  on?" 
•The  hostler  looked  down  for  a  moment.   "Super 
intendent  of  Loadstone." 
"Maynard's?" 
"Yep." 

"I  thought  so.  Well,  you  tell  him  that  Rob  Ray 
mond  borrowed  him  for  a  lady."  He  turned  to  Ann. 
"Come,  we  must  get  out  of  this." 

She  obeyed  like  a  child,  all  her  imperious  nature 
in  subjection  to  his  will.  Lifting  her  to  the  saddle,  he 
led'  the  horse  out  the  back  way  and  through  an  alley 
into  the  main  street,  and  so  to  the  hills.  As  they 
reached  a  fairly  level  spot  in  the  trail  he  turned  and 
looked  back  over  the  roofs  of  the  houses. 

"The  sheriff  is  retreating— wherein  he  shows  good 
sense."  He  pointed  above  them,  where,  on  Pine  Moun 
tain,  Munro's  vedettes  stood  waiting,  backed  by  a  thou- 

229 


Hesper 

sand  miners,  jocular  with  battle-hunger,  shouting  faint 
defiance. 

"I  am  sorry  to  be  such  a  burden  to  you,"  said  Ann. 
"I  know  you  longed  to  be  there  with  Matthew  Kelly, 
and  I  have  forced  you  to  flight." 

"I  will  be  honest.  I  had  that  impulse.  You  see, 
I've  been  so  in  the  habit  of  mixing  in — but  it  was  only  a 
flash— for  you  were  beside  me";  and  then  he  added, 
"And  you  are  more  to  me  than  any  other  thing  in  the 
world." 

She  had  no  reply  to  this,  no  neat  turn  of  phrase,  no 
smile.  She  looked  away  in  silence,  her  breath  a  little 
troubled,  her  throat  contracted. 

In  fear  of  the  effect  of  his  words,  Raymond  hastened 
to  the  impersonal.  "If  this  trouble  is  turned  aside  it 
will  be  due  to  Matt." 

"Why  should  they  obey  him?     Is  he  an  officer?" 

"  Not  now;  but  he  was  the  first  marshal  of  the  camp, 
and  afterwards  chief  of  police.  Everybody  knows  him, 
and  his  influence  is  as  great  as  that  of  any  one  man. 
His  presence  here  to-day  undoubtedly  prevented  a 
desperate  battle." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you  Western  people  who  want 
to  shoot,"  said  Ann,  reflectively. 

The  same  impulse  is  at  the  heart  of  the  city  tough 
who  heaves  a  cobble-stone.  The  difference  lies  in  the 
Western  man's  weapon.  Both  want  to  kill,  but  the 
miner's  gun  is  more  effective.  It  carries  out  his  will. 
If  they  had  begun  shooting  to-day,  no  one  in  the  town 
would  have  been  safe.  Those  smokeless  bullets  rico 
chet  frightfully."  He  looked  at  her  again  most  pen 
etratingly.  "My  anxiety  was  increased  by  my  sense 
of  guilt.  I  shouldn't  have  taken  you  down  the  trail 

230 


Ann    Rides    with    Raymond 

to-day,  but  the  temptation  of  a  ride  with  you  was  too 
great.     I  hope  you'll  forgive  me." 

She  was  recovering  her  self-command.        I  have  only 
to  thank  you;  it  has  been  a  most  wonderful  trip, 
wouldn't  have  missed  it  for  anything,  now  that  I  am 

out  of  it." 

"You  have  reason  to  be  ironical. 

"  I  assure  you  I  am  quite  sincere.     I  am  glad 
it.     I  welcome  these  experiences,  they  are  flashes 
crimson  in  my  dull,  gray  life." 

"  I  don't  understand  you  in  that  mood,    he  said,  and 
started  up  the  trail  again. 

Ann  no  longer  realized  her  danger.     The  higher  she 
rose  in  the  clear,  sweet  air,  the  more  incredible 
whole  miasmatic  experience  became.     The  sun,  low  m 
the  west,  made  of  Mogalyon  a  beacon  to  the  woi 
and  the  far  Crestones,  pale  violet  in  silhouette,  were 
edged   with   golden   fire.     The  horsemen   above  were 
as  flies,  the  mob  below  like  ants.     The  only  realities 
were  the  mountains,  the  sun,  and  her  protector,  who 
climbed  steadily,  eager  to  set  his  charge  in  a  pk 

Q  o  "Ff^'v 

'   The  flight  through  that  street  of  abandoned  women, 
the   crowd,   the   curses,   the   grotesque   epithets,   the 
march  of  the  sheriff's  posse,  the  ill-smelling  livery  of 
fice,  the  escape  through  the  alley,  all  seemed  like  a 
specially  vivid  dream.     The  one  thing  that  endured 
was  Raymond's  change  of  manner  towards  her 
clasp  of  his  arm  and  his  leadership  seemed  at  the  rr 
ment  typical  of  that  sovereignty  which  men  of  large 
mould  impose  almost  unconsciously  upon  women. 

As  they  neared  the  Kelly  cabin  Raymond  stoppec 
again,  and,  coming  back,  slowly  said:  "I  am  deeply 

231 


Hesper 

chagrined  by  this   experience.     I   really  thought  we 
were  going  away  from  disorder." 

"  Please  do  not  trouble  your  mind  with  it  any  more," 
she  answered,  decisively.  "  It  was  an  experience  which 
will  give  me  something  new  to  think  about." 

Kelly  did  not  return  till  late.  At  about  nine  o  'clock 
he  knocked  at  Raymond's  door.  "Get  your  gun,"  he 
said,  quietly.  "We're  on  guard  to-night." 

And  together  they  paced  to  and  fro  on  the  hill-side, 
listening  to  the  yells  of  drunken  men  up  the  street  and 
to  distant  gun-shots  as  the  storm  of  battle  swept  away 
to  the  south  of  them.  By  midnight  all  was  silent.  The 
sheriff's  forces  were  either  repulsed  or  captured. 

Raymond  was  not  without  a  sense  of  bitterness  as 
he  meditated  on  the  events  of  the  day.  "I  seem  des 
tined  to  play  the  weak  man's  part  before  her,"  he 
thought.  There  was  something  decidedly  unheroic 
in  being  left  afoot  and  skulking  down  back  streets 
and  dirty  alleys,  and  not  even  the  knowledge  that  he 
was  thereby  serving  her  to  his  best  powers  could  salve 
his  hurt.  His  had  never  been  the  passive  part.  On 
the  contrary,  he  had  always  taken  the  role  of  leader, 
even  in  the  games  of  his  boyhood.  Active,  resource 
ful,  and  fearless,  it  was  natural  that  he  should  rebel  at 
a  combination  of  events  which  seemed  to  make  of 
him,  in  the  presence  of  his  love,  a  hesitating,  sneaking 
coward. 


XVI 
Ann's    Savage    Lovers 

1\TOTWITHSTANDING  the  excitements  of  the  day, 
IN  or  perhaps  because  of  them,  Ann  slept  quite  as 
soundly  during  this  second  night  as  on  the  first  of  her 
stay,  hearing  nothing  of  the  tumult  in  the  street,  un 
disturbed  by  the  furious  rush  of  a  squad  of  Munro's 
pickets  tearing  down  the  trail. 

She  was  awakened,  as  before,  by  the  sound  of  the 
little  coffee-mill,  but  she  did  not  rise  as  promptly  as 
on  the  first  morning,  and  was  still  dozing  when  Nora 
appeared  with  a  piece  of  corn-cake  and  a  cup  of  coffee. 

"You  feel  tired  this  morning,  I  know.  Well,  now, 
take  your  breakfast  in  bed." 

Ann  was  conscious-smitten.  "No,  no!  You  poor, 
dear  thing,  I  am  ashamed  to  have  you  waiting  on  me." 

"It's  so  little — a  mere  step  or  two." 

"Yes,  but  you  have  so  many  steps.  After  this  I 
forbid  you  doing  anything  of  this  kind  for  me,  and  I've 
been  thinking— why  can't  we  hire  a  Chinaman  to  work 
for  us?  Unless  I  can  do  something  to  relieve  you,  I 
will  not  stay.  You  are  tired.  I  wish  you  would  ask 
Mr.  Raymond  to  find  us  a  helper  to-day." 

"Hello,  sis!"  shouted  Louis.  "Aren't  you  up  yet' 
You'll  never  make  a  miner."  Here  he  poked  his  head 
in  at  the  door.  "Jupiter!  wasn't  yesterday  an  ex- 

233 


Hesper 

citing  day?  It  makes  me  sick  to  think  I  didn't  go 
down  to  Bozle  with  you.  Rob  has  been  telling  me 
about  Matt's  shielding  the  sheriff.  It  must  have  been 
great.  I  was  out  on  the  hill-side.  We  all  thought  the 
sheriff  was  coming  up  that  way.  But  he  didn't;  he 
turned  back  and  went  into  camp,  and  last  night  Jack 
went  down  and  pitched  into  him,  and  they  had  a  battle." 

"They  did?     Was  any  one  killed?" 

"Ten." 

Nora  gasped.     "Merciful  powers!" 

"So  Perry  says.     Our  side  won." 

Ann  frowned.  ' '  Our  side !  You  are  not  taking  sides 
with  these  lawless  miners?" 

"I'm  not  on  the  sheriff's  side — sure  thing!" 

Ann  studied  him  gravely.  "Louis,  you  are  getting 
very  slangy.  I  wish  you  wouldn't  take  on  this  rowdy 
accent;  it  will  be  hard  to  shake  off.  I  don't  like  to 
see  you  lose  your  nice  manners." 

Louis  wished  to  side-track  this  discussion.  "Our 
things  have  come." 

"  Have  they?  Very  well,  I'll  get  up  at  once  and  un 
pack.  I  want  you  to  help  me  a  little  here." 

"And  I  want  you  to  help  fix  up  our  bungalow." 

"Agreed.  Now  run  away  and  find  a  hammer  and 
some  tacks." 

Together  they  worked  to  render  her  room  a  little 
less  blealc,  and  together  they  crossed  the  path  to  Ray 
mond's  cabin,  where  they  toiled  merrily.  The  weather 
was  deliciously  clear  and  cool  and  golden,  like  October 
in  New  England,  and  the  girl  responded  to  its  influ 
ence  as  to  some  rare  wine.  She  felt  lighter  and  nim 
bler  than  at  the  Springs,  and  though  her  breathing  was 
painful  at  times,  and  a  dull  ache  in  her  head  troubled 

234 


Ann's    Savage    Lovers 

her,  she  retained  her  vigor  and  her  elation  unaccount 
ably.  She  was  just  leaving  the  bungalow  to  help  Mrs. 
Kelly  with  the  mid-day  meal  when  Munro  dashed  up 
and  flung  himself  from  his  horse. 

"Good-morning,  Lady  Ann;  how  fares  the  day?" 

Something  unduly  presuming  in  his  tone  irritated 
her,  and  she  gave  him  a  glance  intended  to  check  and 
humble  him.  "I  am  quite  well,  thank  you." 

He  was  not  of  those  whom  disdainful  eyes  abase. 
He  hugged  himself  and  shivered  comically.  "Wow! 
but  that  was  a  cold  breeze.  Some  one  must  have 
left  the  bars  down."  His  open-mouthed  smile  was 
like  silent  laughter.  "Come,  now,  what  have  I  done 
to  deserve  such  a  blast?" 

Ann  remained  silent,  yet  she  could  not  but  ac 
knowledge  a  certain  charm  in  his  effrontery.  His 
was  the  beauty  of  the  black  leopard — rounded,  swift, 
and  changeable.  Taking  a  step  nearer,  he  added,  with 
gentle  sadness,  "You're  not  going  to  draw  the  line  on 
me,  are  you?  What  do  you  know  against  me?" 

"I  know  nothing  against  you,  or  for  you  either," 
she  replied,  turning  from  him  contemptuously. 

"Don't  go!"  he  called,  and  his  voice  became  very 
frank  and  musical.  "I  didn't  mean  to  offend.  I 
don't  want  to  seem  fresh — I  really  don't.  You've  hit 
me  hard.  I  came  away  from  important  business  to 
see  you  this  morning." 

"You  take  too  much  trouble,"  she  cuttingly  replied. 
"You  have  my  permission  to  return  at  once." 

"I  beg  the  queen's  pardon  again — I  should  have 
said  this  call  was  my  most  important  duty." 

"I  hope  the  duty  will  not  interfere  with  any  pleas 
ure." 

235 


Hesper 

He  showed  a  little  confusion.  "You  must  take 
the  deed  for  the  word  in  my  case;  I  meant  to  com 
pliment  you.  I'm  a  little  out  of  practice  in  repartee." 

Ann  relented  a  little;  his  self-confidence  was  amus 
ing. 

"Oh,  if  I  can  be  of  any  service — in  a  conversational 
way—  '  she  suggested,  with  most  impersonal  amia 
bility. 

Her  tone  and  mocking  inflection,  both  new  to  him, 
puzzled  him.  "You're  having  fun  with  me,  but  I 
don't  mind  so  long  as  I  can  keep  you  standing  where 
I  can  see  your  eyes." 

Ann  flushed  with  annoyance  at  this  home -thrust, 
and  was  turning  to  go  when  he  stopped  her  again," 
and  his  tone  was  hard  and  dry.  "You  were  in  Bozle 
yesterday  with  Raymond.  Don't  do  that  again. 
When  you  want  an  escort  let  me  know;  I'll  send  a  man 
that  knows  enough  not  to  take  a  lady  into  danger, 
and  who  has  'savvy'  enough  to  keep  his  horses  for 
the  return  trip." 

Ann  was  trapped  into  defending  Raymond.  "I 
don't  think  my  escort  was  especially  negligent." 

"He's  a  good  fellow,"  the  mocker  went  on  to  say 
in  a  patronizing  way,  "but  he  gets  rattled  when  he's 
out  with  a  '  f emme ' — he  always  did  fall  down  in  '  drag 
ging'  a  girl  around;  you  come  to  me  when  you  are  in 
trouble." 

"Thank  you,  you  are  very  kind;  but  I'm  not  in 
need  of  additional  protection,"  Ann  icily  replied. 

"Good-bye,  till  to-morrow,"  he  called  after  her  in 
mockery,  his  voice  as  musical  as  a  bugle. 

This  interview,  short  as  it  was,  left  the  girl  with 
the  feeling  of  having  been  grasped  and  shaken  by  a 

236 


Ann's    Savage    Lovers 

rude  hand.  This  man  neither  feared  nor  respected 
her.  He  came  as  no  other  had  ever  dared  to  come — 
boisterous,  confident,  undisguisedly  seeking  to  hum 
ble  her.  Her  position,  her  parentage,  her  habitual 
reserve  counted  for  nothing  against  him;  her  youth 
and  beauty  aroused  only  the  instant,  insatiable,  de 
vouring  passion  of  the  tiger.  And  yet  her  anger  was 
not  unmixed  with  admiration;  his  magnificent  au 
dacity  and  the  grace  and  dash  of  his  advance  inter 
ested  her. 

"  I  wish  I  had  asked  him  to  tell  me  what  took  place 
last  night,"  she  said  to  herself  after  her  anger  had 
been  transfused  into  amusement  and  her  usual  calm 
self-confidence  had  been  restored.  "It  was  silly  to 
permit  him  to  see  that  I  was  angry." 

Raymond  saw  Munro  riding  away,  and  wondered 
what  his  errand  could  have  been ;  and  when  Louis  told 
him  that  the  gambler  had  stopped  and  detained  Ann  in 
the  path,  his  teeth  set  in  anger.  "The  little  hound!" 
he  growled  under  breath.  "I'll  put  an  end  to  that!" 

Immediately  upon  finishing  his  supper  he  went  up 
the  path  to  Hanley's  to  find  "the  lookout."  Munro 
was  in  his  place,  sitting  high  above  his  faro  lay-out, 
clicking  a  couple  of  silver  dollars  together,  talking 
with  gleeful  intensity  to  Denver  Dan,  who  stood  at 
his  shoulder  broadly  smiling.  The  saloon  was  packed 
with  men  all  in  high  spirits  over  the  precipitate  flight 
of  the  sheriff. 

Raymond  was  in  a  mood  to  suspect  evil.  "He 
may  be  boasting  to  Dan  this  minute,"  he  thought, 
and  his  hands  clinched.  "If  he  is,  I'll  cut  his  throat." 

Munro  sighted  him  at  last  and  called  out,  "Hello, 
Rob,  how  goes  it?" 

237 


Hesper 

Raymond  did  not  reply  till  he  reached  his  side. 
"I  want  a  talk  with  you,  Jack,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice. 

Munro  studied  him  for  a  moment,  then  turned  to 
Dan.  "Take  my  place  a  minute." 

Dan  complied,  and  Raymond  led  the  way  into  the 
open  air;  and  when  they  were  well  out  of  the  crowd 
he  turned  and  said: 

"You  intercepted  Miss  Rupert  to-day?" 

"I  met  her — yes.     What  about  it?" 

"Just  this.  You're  not  fit  to  shake  the  hand  of  a 
decent  girl,  much  less  a  cultured,  high-bred  woman 
like  Ann  Rupert,  and  you  know  it!" 

Munro  was  staggered.  "The  hell  I'm  not?  What 
business  is  it  of  yours?"  he  asked,  with  instant  anger. 

Raymond's  wrath  was  self-contained.  "Keep 
your  temper,  Jack.  We've  summered  and  wintered 
together,  and  you  can't  make  any  mistakes  about 
what  I  mean.  I  know  the  kind  of  women  you  live 
with  and  the  kind  of  life  you  lead,  and  I  tell  you  to 
keep  away  from  the  Kelly  cabin,  and  when  you're 
round  where  that  boy  is  you  keep  a  clean  tongue  in 
your  head." 

Munro  did  not  snarl  as  Raymond  expected.  His 
voice  became  softly  insinuating  as  he  said:  "Sup 
pose  the  lady  invited  me  to  call?  Suppose  she  was 
interested  in  my  conversation?" 

Raymond's  hand  clutched  his  shoulder.  "Be  care 
ful  what  you  say!" 

"The  lady  had  a  chance  to  go.  The  path  was  open, 
but  she  lingered — she  smiled." 

"You're  a  liar!" 

Munro    was    now    very    confident.     "Am    I?     Ask 


Ann's    Savage    Lovers 

the  boy,  he  saw  her  talking  with  me.  I  say  the  lady 
was  gracious." 

Raymond's  hand  fell  away. 

Munro  pursued  his  advantage.  "You're  mighty 
hot,  it  seems  to  me.  What  business  is  it  of  yours  who 
the  lady  talks  to?  Are  you  her  guardian?  Have 
you  any  claim  on  her?  If  you  have,  I  withdraw. 
Come,  now,  has  she  made  you  her  champion?" 

Raymond  was  silent  for  a  moment.  ''She  has  not; 
but  she  is  here  unprotected,  and  if  you  take  her  name 
lightly  here  among  these  gamblers  and  drunkards, 
or  anywhere  else,  I'll  kill  you." 

The  gambler  took  on  the  air  of  an  injured  comrade. 
"Now,  see  here,  Rob,  you're  away  out  of  limits.  I 
acknowledge  I've  known  a  whole  lot  of  cheap  women, 
but  that's  all  the  more  reason  why  I  should  be  able 
to  tell  when  I  meet  the  real  thing.  If  you  think  I 
class  Miss  Rupert  in  with  any  'rag'  I've  known  since 
I  left  the  Academy,  you  certainly  do  me  an  injustice. 
Her  name  is  as  safe  with  me  as  with  you.  Probably 
she's  tied  up  back  in  the  States,  anyway,  so  that  neither 
of  us  have  any  chance  of  interesting  her.  But  it's  an 
open  course  and  no  favors,  and  so  long  as  she  doesn't 
hand  me  out  the  '  icy  mitt '  I'm  going  to  make  the  most 
of  my  chance,  and  from  this  moment " — he  took  off 
his  hat— "I  reform!  I  throw  up  my  job  at  Hanley's, 
I  cut  off  'booze,'  and  I  shake  'Eau  Claire.": 

Raymond  was  impressed  by  his  rival's  manner. 
"You  can  quit  gambling,  and  I  hope  you  can  leave 
liquor  alone,  but  I  see  trouble  when  you  shake  Claire. 
But  that  doesn't  matter.  For  the  sake  of  old  times, 
I  want  to  avoid  a  quarrel  with  you,  Jack;  but  I  warn 
you  that  if  Miss  Rupert  finds  your  presence  disagree- 

239 


Hesper 

able,  you  go,  and  you  stay!  As  you  say,  she  is  prob 
ably  engaged  to  a  better  man  than  either  of  us;  but 
she  is  here  because  of  the  boy,  and  I  feel  a  certain  re 
sponsibility  for  them  both,  and  the  man  who  pre 
sumes  on  a  chance  acquaintance  with  her  will  answer 
to  me." 

"All  right — leave  it  to  her,  Rob,"  said  Munro,  almost 
jocularly.  "If  she  turns  me  down,  I'll  pull  out  of  my 
own  accord,  lightning  sure.  Good-night!" 

Raymond  walked  away  with  a  sense  of  failure. 
Munro  had  adroitly  writhed  out  of  his  grasp,  and  was 
probably  exulting  at  his  own  cleverness.  He  was 
troubled,  too,  by  the  confident  tone  which  Munro 
had  taken  in  saying,  "The  way  was  open,  she  lin 
gered."  Was  it  possible  for  a  man  like  that  to  win  the 
love  of  a  delicately  reared  girl  like  Ann  ?  He  recalled 
the  case  of  Maud  Elbridge,  the  stateliest,  queenliest 
girl  of  his  native  town — a  belle,  surrounded  by  suitors 
— who  won  high  social  recognition  in  Cincinnati  and 
later  in  New  York,  and  yet  remained  unmarried  till 
she  was  thirty  years  of  age,  only  to  be  carried  off  at 
last  by  a  miserable  little  rake  of  a  man  who  had  neither 
money  nor  honor  nor  grace,  but  who  won  because  he 
broke  through  her  barrier  of  reserve  and  laid  confident 
hand  upon  her. 

Munro  had  charm.  He  was  undeniably  alluring  to 
women,  and  was  fond  of  saying,  "Any  woman  can  be 
won  by  a  little  strategy  and  a  great  deal  of  gall."  It 
was  possible  that  such  a  man  might  interest,  but  quite 
impossible  that  he  should  win  a  girl  of  Ann's  penetra 
tion  and  reserve. 

Out  of  the  tumult  of  his  doubt  he  emerged  with  an 
accession  of  confidence  in  himself.  "If  it  comes  to  a 

240 


Ann's    Savage    Lovers 

choice  between  us,  my  chances  are  as  good  as  his.  If 
she  is  being  amused  by  us  both,  then,  at  least,  I  will 
have  had  the  pleasure  of  her  presence  for  a  little  space." 

He  really  knew  very  little  of  her  family  history, 
for  Mrs.  Barnett  had  been  careful  in  her  descriptions. 
"Ann  is  rich  in  her  own  right,"  she  said  once,  "  and 
has  had  everything  to  make  her  happy  all  her  life. 
Why  she  has  never  married  I  can't  tell — nobody  can. 
It's  a  mystery  to  her  own  family.  She's  not  the  kind 
of  person  to  be  interviewed  on  her  love  affairs,  and 
she's  not  a  confiding  sort;  and  there  you  are." 

"Her  tolerance  of  Jack  is  due  to  ignorance  of  his 
real  character,"  Raymond  decided,  as  he  walked  slowly 
back  to  his  cabin.  "  Mrs.  Kelly  must  tell  her." 

He  saw  the  light  in  Kelly's  home,  and  its  allurement 
was  stronger  than  ever  before,  but  he  resolutely  held 
his  way  to  his  own  fireside,  there  to  bitterly  muse  the 
entire  evening  over  his  poverty  and  the  false  position 
in  which  Munro  had  cleverly  placed  him. 

He  repented  of  his  resolute  passing  of  her  door  when 
he  heard  next  day  that  a  couple  of  the  independent 
operators  had  spent  the  entire  evening  with  Kelly,  and 
that  one  of  them  talked  a  great  deal  to  Ann.  The 
sting  of  it  lay  in  the  fact  that  Tracy  was  a  fine  young 
fellow,  studious  and  capable.  "You  are  a  fool,"  Ray 
mond  said  to  himself.  "You  threw  away  a  chance  to 
be  happy.  Don't  do  it  again." 

In  the  midst  of  Ann's  return  of  mental  health 
came  also  the  delicious  sense  of  mingled  allurement 
and  danger  with  which,  as  a  girl,  she  had  met  the  ad 
vances  of  her  boyish  lovers.  There  was  something 
in  these  primitive  surroundings,  in  the  rocks,  in  the 
rough  boards,  in  the  lack  of  privacy  and  retreat  within 

16  241 


Hesper 

doors,  and  in  the  fulness  of  opportunity  without,  which 
renewed  the  mystery  and  charm  of  courtship.  Con 
ventions  counted  for  less.  Human  emotions  grew  each 
day  more  vital,  more  compelling. 

Every  man  who  could  by  any  excuse  "drop  in  at 
Kelly's"  did  so  in  the  hope  of  meeting  "the  Fifth  Ave 
nue  girl."  Several  of  the  young  mine-owners  found 
it  expedient  to  consult'  Kelly  very  often,  and  generally 
managed  to  have  a  word  with  Ann.  These  lean,  brown 
men  of  the  mountains  were  not  given  to  ambiguous 
phrases.  Their  eyes  met  hers  with  frank  and  whole 
some  admiration.  No  half-way  halting  -  places  lay 
along  the  ways  of  their  advance.  No  shadowy  allu 
sions  existed  in  their  speech.  Their  courtship,  espe 
cially  that  of  Munro,  was  as  direct  as  a  knife-thrust, 
as  unequivocal  as  a  pistol-shot. 

And  she  enjoyed  this,  that  was  the  amazing  thing — 
even  to  herself — and  she  liked  him  and  derived  amuse 
ment  from  his  singular  methods  of  attack.  She  was 
mightily  concerned  to  learn  that  her  character  was  so 
largely  a  reflex  of  her  environment.  "Of  course,  it  is 
only  temporary,"  she  wrote  to  Jeannette.  "  It's  only  a 
play.  These  people  will  soon  fade  out  of  my  life,  and  I 
will  go  back  to  the  old  routine  in  the  city,  but  at  present 
I  am  actually  amused  by  it  all,  and  my  health  is  amaz 
ingly  improved.  I  never  felt  better  in  my  life." 

"The  altitude  seems  to  be  doing  her  good,"  remarked 
Don,  after  Jeannette  had  read  this  passage  of  Ann's 
letter  to  him. 

Jeannette  sniffed.  "Altitude!  It's  a  man.  She 
can't  fool  me  with  her  talk  about  'simple  diet'  and 
'  actual  physical  labor.'  She's  fallen  in  love." 

Don  dropped  his  morning  paper.     "No!" 
242 


Ann's    Savage    Lovers 

"  Why  not?  Wouldn't  it  be  like  that  girl  to  interest 
herself  in  some  perfectly  worthless  adventurer,  after 
all  we've  done  for  her  here?  She  was  bored  to  death 
with  us.  She  yawned  in  the  faces  of  all  the  nice  fel 
lows  we  introduced  her  to.  Now,  who  do  you  suppose 
it  is?1' 

"My  dear,  I  can't  say.  There  are  a  lot  of  fine  chaps 
up  there  doing  one  thing  or  another.  Young  Reese, 
for  instance,  is  thick  with  the  Kellys,  or  it  may  be 
Ben  Tracy.  It  couldn't  be  Rob." 

"No  such  good  taste.  She  was  perfectly  brutal  to 
him,  fairly  accused  him  of  getting  shot  in  order  to  win 
her  sympathy.  I  want  to  see  that  girl  taken  from  her 
high  horse,  but  I  don't  want  it  done  by  some  of  those 
nasty  little  'remittance  men." 

Don  resumed  his  paper.  "I'm  not  alarmed.  Ann 
is  no  Maud  Muller  raking  hay,  if  you  think  of  it.  She's 
a  remarkably  self-contained  young  woman."  He  low 
ered  his  paper  again  with  the  effect  of  delivering  a 
weighty  opinion :  ' '  She  needs  a  lover  who  will  box 
her  ears.  I'm  going  to  give  Peabody  a  line  on  her 
character." 

"You  keep  out  of  this,  Don.  You  are  a  failure  when 
it  comes  to  love  affairs." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  gravely  replied.  "  I  secured 
you — and  your  millions." 

" I  was  easy,"  she  laughed.  "And  you  sha'n't  have 
the  last  word." 


XVII 
Ann's    Humiliation 

NOT  a.day  passed  that  the  captain  of  the  patrol  did 
not  ride  down  to  the  door  of  the  Kelly  cabin  and 
leap  from  his  saddle  with  some  fanciful  greeting,  care 
fully  and  ornately  uttered.  So  much  he  retained  of 
his  Kentucky  breeding. 

Ann  openly  ridiculed  his  romantic  phrases,  and  gen 
erally  asked,  "Have  you  killed  any  one  to-day?" 

"No,  lady;  but  I  robbed  three,"  he  would  reply  with 
a  certain  effective  succinctness;  and  yet,  with  all  this 
dare-devil  assumption,  he  was  never  able  to  convince 
her  of  his  wickedness.  To  her  he  was  an  actor  play 
ing  a  part,  and  doing  it  with  joy  and  pride,  and  she 
did  not  care  to  discover  his  real  self.  He  was  a  foil 
to  Raymond,  who  had  grown  reserved  and  moody, 
and  to  young  Reese,  who  was  very  practical  and  busi 
ness-like.  Munro,  indeed,  appeared  to  have  little  to 
do  but  amuse  her  by  day  and  watch  the  faro-table  at 
Hanley's  by  night.  For  while  the  valley  grumbled 
and  threatened,  massing  men  and  munitions  of  war, 
the  miners  of  the  peak  loafed  and  laughed,  and  listened 
to  the  rattle  of  the  leaping  marble  in  the  piebald  wheel. 
The  newspaper  boys  did  all  the  fortifying,  and  planned 
all  the  campaigns  which  were  to  follow;  and  Munro's 
humorous  account  of  these  fictional  preparations  kept 

244 


Ann's   Humiliation 

Ann  from  taking  a  serious  view  of  the  situation,  not 
withstanding  Kelly's  growing  uneasiness  and  Ray 
mond's  gloom.  It  was  all  a  colossal  farce  to  her. 

"Well,  the  reporters  put  in  a  new  system  of  torpedo- 
mines  last  night,"  announced  Munro  one  morning,  "and 
they've  closed  all  communication  from  the  south." 
And  on  the  day  following  he  gravely  said:  "We  mount 
ed  another  Gatling-gun  this  morning — so  the  papers 
say — and  we  are  now  invincible.  The  sheriff's  army 
grows  apace,  but  does  not  march." 

Ann  could  not  understand  this  humorous  defiance  of 
law — this  colossal  recklessness.  "What  will  you  do 
when  it  does  march?" 

"Meet  it  and  bu'st  it." 

"What  then?" 

He  laughed.  "Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil 
thereof." 

"Tell  me,  now,"  she  said  to  him  at  another  time: 
"what  is  your  real  motive?  Why  should  you  be  the 
champion  of  the  rights  of  labor?" 

He  astonished  her  by  giving  back  earnestness  for 
earnestness.  "I'll  tell  you,  my  lady.  Labor  has  got 
to  fight.  This  union  is  the  coming  thing.  The  toilers 
have  not  only  got  to  stand  together,  but  they've  got  to 
drill.  I  happen  to  have  a  little  military  training,  and 
I'm  going  to  give  Western  labor  its  first  lesson  in  the 
power  of  military  organization.  I  want  to  show  them 
that  a  hundred  men  trained  to  unhesitating  obedience 
to  a  leader  are  better  than  ten  thousand  men  whooping 
and  yelling  in  a  mob." 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  approve  of  that  or  not. 
Isn't  it  setting  class  against  class?" 

"There  ought  to  be  only  one  class." 
245 


Hesper 


"And  that?" 

"The  toilers." 

"Ah,  you'd  destroy  us." 

"Whom  do  you  mean  by  'us*?" 

"The  wealthy,  the  plutocrats." 

"Are  you  a  plutocrat?" 

Ann  smiled.  "I  suppose  your  brethren  would  call 
me  that,  Still,  all  this  seems  very  strange  in  a  gam 
bler." 

"I'll  tell  you  something — I'm  not  a  gambler.  I  am 
a  judge." 

"A  judge?" 

"Yes,  I  sit  above  the  board  to  see  that  every  man 
has  a  fair  deal  and  a  full  count.  I  never  gamble." 

"Tell  me  just  what  you  do.  It  is  all  so  strange  to 
me." 

"There  is  a  game,  sweet  lady,  called  faro.  It  is  a 
pure  game  of  chance  when  the  dealing  is  honest  and 
above-board.  It  is  played  at  a  low  table  round  which 
the  gamblers  sit  facing  the  dealer.  Back  of  the  whole 
'lay-out,'  and  on  a  high  chair,  sits  the  judge  looking 
down  over  the  head  of  the  dealer.  He  follows  every 
motion  and  records  every  deal.  I  am  a  judge.  It's  a 
confining  job,  but  it  brings  me  in  touch  with  the  whole 
camp.  The  boys  know  I'm  on  the  square — they've 
had  occasion  to  test  it — and  when  I  want  anything  I 
get  it.  The  dollars  I  earn  are  as  honest  as  any  of  those 
your  Eastern  aristocrats  make  by  bu'sting  one  railroad 
to  build  up  another." 

Ann's  eyes  were  reflective.  "That  is  a  new  avoca 
tion  to  me,"  she  said,  slowly.  "And  it  is  not  for  me  to 
say  that  you  are  not  doing  good,  and  yet  your  wages 
come  from  the  miners,  after  all." 

246 


Ann's   Humiliation 

"Can  you  snifE  of  each  dollar  you  get  from  your 
father  and  not  smell  blood?  All  money  is  blood- 
money  somewhere  down  the  line." 

Ann  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Oh,  this  is  getting 
too  serious,  'Mr.  Judge.'  I  didn't  intend  to  stir  you 
to  an  exposition  of  Nihilism." 

"I'm  only  just  trying  to  show  you  that  I'm  not  so 
black  as  a  lot  of  these  'dubs'  would  have  you  think. 
I  want  you  to  carry  a  mighty  fine  estimate  of  me. 
I  claim  that  a  man  who  is  fighting  labor's  battles  at 
the  risk  of  his  own  life  has  some  claim  on  your  good 
opinion.  I  can  see  that  Kelly  and  Raymond  have 
set  you  against  me." 

"Quite  the  contrary,  Captain  Munro.  Mr.  Ray 
mond  is  careful  to  speak  well  of  you." 

"Rob's  a  good  chap,  but  he  thinks  I'm  a  lost  one, 
all  the  same.     You  see  he  and  Kelly  both  stand  for 
the  thing  that  is  going  out.     They  think  any  man  has 
the  same  chance  they  have,  but  I  tell  you  this  union 
that  they  despise  is  the  coming  order  — now,  that 
enough  of  war.     I  never  explained  myself  to  any  c 
before    so  you  can  know  how  much  I  think  of  yoi 
You've  made  all  the  other  women  I  know  commo 

as  dirt — "  , 

Ann  stopped  him  with  a  gesture.  ^     You  mustn  t 

begin  on  that  again— I  will  not  listen." 

"You  have  listened,  and  I'll  make  you  do  it  again, 

he  said  as  he  turned  to  go,  and  again  he  smiled,  and 

while  that  look  was  on  his  face  his  plea  seemed  merely 

a  subterfuge  to  win  her  attention— and  he  was  very 

handsome  at  the  moment. 

In  truth,  Kelly  and  Raymond  were  watching  Munro 

rise  to  power  with  growing  uneasiness. 


247 


Hesper 

in  almost  complete  control  of  the  camp,  and  though 
he  still  deferred  to  the  union  and  its  committees,  his 
reckless  bravery,  his  prompt  execution  of  orders,  and 
his  knowledge  of  military  forms  had  made  of  him  the 
chief  source  of  command,  the  only  adequate  regula 
tive  force  on  the  peak.  Those  on  the  outside  did  not 
hesitate  to  call  him  "the  arch -devil  of  the  district," 
and  the  whole  Western  world  was  filled  with  his  doings, 
his  reckless  speeches. 

His  fame  had  fired  the  hearts  of  all  the  dead-shots 
and  restless  spirits  of  the  West,  and  from  an  irregular 
squad  of  twenty -five  or  thirty  men  his  forces  had 
risen  to  nearly  two  hundred  heavily  armed  and  hardy 
horsemen.  This  squadron  the  reporters  (with  intent 
to  aid  the  camp)  magnified  into  an  army  in  their 
despatches  to  the  outside  world,  making  the  valley 
leaders  run  to  and  fro  in  doubt  and  dismay,  while  the 
Eastern  press  cynically  asked  "What  will  those  un 
accountable  Westerners  do  next?" 

Raymond,  though  keeping  keen  eyes  upon  Munro, 
was  unable  to  find  cause  for  war  in  any  word  or  act 
of  the  gambler,  nor  could  he  fathom  Ann's  mind  either 
towards  Munro  or  himself.  She  appeared  to  find 
Munro  diverting,  and  spoke  of  him  only  in  that  way. 
If  she  understood  his  "home  life,"  it  made  no  change 
in  her  attitude.  It  was  inconceivable  that  a  refined 
girl  should  tolerate  a  man  who  passed  from  one  igno 
rant  and  vicious  woman  to  another,  and  yet  Ann's 
greeting  remained  gracious,  if  not  friendly.  What  it 
was  when  they  were  alone,  he  dared  not  think. 

As  for  Raymond  himself,  he  continued  to  punish 
himself  by  putting  aside  the  many  opportunities 
which  came  to  plead  his  own  suit,  and  took  a  morbid 

248 


Ann's    Humiliation 

sort  of  pleasure  in  his  renunciation.  "There  will  be 
one  man  at  least  who  will  not  persecute  her,"  he  said, 
savagely,  and  bent  his  best  energies  to  the  work  of  de 
veloping  his  mine. 

One  morning  a  great  hunger  to  see  her  mastered 
his  absurd  pride,  and,  leaving  the  shaft-house,  he  re 
turned  to  the  bungalow  at  the  precise  hour  when  she 
came  over  (as  he  knew)  to  see  that  the  rooms  were 
put  in  order. 

Ann  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room  overseeing 
Perry  and  Louis,  who  were  beating  rugs  and  dusting. 
She  wore  a  short  gray  skirt  and  a  dainty  shirt-waist,, 
and  was  radiant  with  health  and  good  spirits. 

"Good-morning,"  she  called,  brightly.  "You  find 
us  at  the  rugs  again." 

"You  take  too  much  trouble.  I  don't  mind  a  little 
dust,  and  I  don't  think  Louis  does." 

"It's  demoralizing  to  be  disorderly,"  she  answered 
as  she  straightened  the  papers  on  his  big  plank  table. 
"I  haven't  many  virtues,  but  orderliness  is  one  of 
them." 

He  stepped  into  the  room.  "Then  let  me  help. 
I  don't  like  to  see  you  wrestling  with  this  dust.  Show 
me  what  to  do,  and  I'll  do  it." 

"No,  I  am  well  attended,  and,  besides,  your  mine 
demands  your  time." 

"If  this  rug  adjustment  seems  important  to  you, 
who  have  no  call  to  do  it,  then  it  ought  to  be  doubly 
important  to  me,  who  ought  not  to  neglect  it.  Now, 
shall  I  shake  this  Navajo?" 

In  a  spirit  of  concession  she  gravely  said,  "Yes, 
you  may  take  that  out  and  beat  it;  no,  take  it^out 
to  Perry,  and  I'll  show  you  something  else  to  do,"  by 

249 


Hesper 

which  it  appeared  that  she  wished  him  to  stay  with 
her.  "You  may  move  this  table,"  she  commanded 
on  his  return,  "and  take  up  that  centre  rug." 

There  was  something  deliciously  intimate  and  do 
mestic  in  this  relationship,  and  he  forgot  mines  and 
mining,  while  she  put  aside  all  reserve  and  laughed 
gleefully  at  his  "  woolling  "  of  the  rugs.  "You  look  like 
a  big  St.  Bernard  puppy  with  a  shoe,"  she  laughed, 
as  he  went  out  with  a  big  Navajo  blanket. 

"I'm  sorry  I  appear  ridiculous,"  he  replied,  mightily 
transformed  by  her  intimate  tone,  "for  my  intent  is 
knightly — I  serve  my  queen." 

"Now  please  don't  you  begin  to  pay  compliments," 
she  exclaimed,  with  a  slight  emphasis  on  the  word 
"you."  "I  hate  men  who  pay  compliments." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — I  promise  not  to  offend  again; 
only  it  does  seem  hard  after  the  labor  I  had  to  put 
those  words  together.  You  can't  prevent  my  looking 
compliments,  can  you?"  This  remark  she  ignored  al 
together. 

At  last  she  said:  "There,  everything  is  in  order. 
And  you  can  go  back  to  your  work.  How  is  your 
mine  getting  on — or  down?" 

"Very  fast,  everybody  says;  very  slowly,  it  seems 
to  me." 

"Are  you  so  eager  to  be  rich?" 

"More  eager  than  I  care  to  acknowledge.  I  have 
a  thing  to  do,  a  sort  of  restitution  to  make,  which  de 
mands  money;  when  I  'strike  it'  I  will  tell  you,  if 
you  will  listen." 

"  I  hope  you  will  strike  it  soon — you  have  awakened 
my  curiosity."  She  turned  towards  the  door.  "Isn't 
it  right  weather?  Is  it  always  like  this  in  winter?" 

250 


Ann's   Humiliation 

"Kelly  says  not.  Everyone  calls  this  an  extremely 
mild  winter.  I  am  very  glad  of  it,  for  your  sake  as 
well  as  ours;  it  enables  you  to  remain  with  us,  which 
is  a  great  pleasure." 

She  started  slowly  towards  the  door.  "It  has  been 
a  very  healthful  change  for  me.  I  was  never  so  vigor 
ous.  I  enjoy  my  work." 

"I  am  coming  to  help  you  after  this — every  day — 
if  you  will  permit  me." 

"Oh,  I  don't  tidy  up  every  day,  I'm  not  so  ex 
treme  as  that.  The  rugs  would  go  to  frazzles  at  that 
rate.  I  come  only  on  Mondays  and  Fridays." 

"Thank  you;  you  may  depend  on  me.  This  has 
been  the  happiest  hour  of  my  life." 

"I  ought  to  come  daily,  after  such  a  declaration  as 
that,  but  I  must  not  waste  your  time.  I'm  eager  to 
hear  what  you  are  going  to  do  when  your  million 
comes,"  she  answered,  archly.  But  somehow  she  left 
him  in  doubt  even  then.  Her  tone  was  too  open,  too 
frank. 

On  the  afternoon  of  this  serene  day,  as  Ann  and 
the  little  mother  sat  sewing  and  chatting  together,  a 
woman  suddenly  appeared  in  the  open  door.  She 
was  large  and  high-colored,  her  hat  was  awry,  and 
there  was  a  wild  glare  in  her  eyes  and  a  look  in  her 
face  that  froze  even  Nora  into  silence.  Both  stared 
at  their  strange  visitor  in  breathless  apprehension  till 
she  pointed  her  unsteady  finger  at  Ann  and  hoarsely 
cried  out: 

"So  you're  the  one  that's  cut  me  out?"  The  mus 
cles  of  one  cheek  contorted  and  her  eyelid  drooped  like 
that  of  a  paralytic  as  she  fixed  a  baleful  look  on  the 
astonished  girl.  After  a  moment's  pause  she  stepped 

2S1 


Hesper 

uncertainly  upon  the  threshold  and  leaned  against  the 
jamb.  "Well,  you'd  better  watch  out;  if  you  don't 
give  him  up,  I'll  kill  you!" 

"She's  crazy,"  whispered  Nora. 

The  intruder  fumbled  in  her  absurdly  flamboyant 
skirt,  and  at  last  drew  out  a  pistol.  "  Now  you  better 
hop!"  she  said,  with  menacing  calmness. 

Ann  rose,  white  and  calm.  "Who  are  you?  What 
do  you  want?" 

"Who  am  I?  I'm  Jack  Munro's  wife,  that's  who  I 
am;  and  I  want  you  to  let  him  alone,  that's  what  I 
want.  You  can  understand  that,  can't  you?"  Her 
big,  flabby  face  again  contorted  horribly. 

Nora  found  tongue.  "You  go  away,  or  I'll  call 
Matt." 

"Call  him.  What  do  I  care  for  him.  I  ain't  afraid 
of  no  man  livin'.  No,  sir;  let  him  come.  But  I  got  no 
war  with  you;  you're  all  right.  But  that  thing  there, 
with  her  fancy  dresses — I'll  pink  her  with  a  bullet  if  she 
don't  let  my  Jack  alone." 

If  the  drunken  creature  had  swept  a  handful  of  mire 
into  her  face,  Ann  could  not  have  been  more  revolted, 
more  degraded.  She  understood  now.  This  was  one 
of  those  slattern  female  vultures  from  the  street  in 
Bozle.  Fixing  a  look  of  disdain  on  the  woman,  she 
said :  "You  are  quite  mistaken.  Your  Jack  is  less  than 
nothing  to  me.  I  despise  him  and  all  he  represents." 

The  other  wildly  laughed.  "Ah,  yes,  you  can  talk — 
you're  smooth — but  I  know!"  She  began  to  bluster. 
"If  you  hated  him,  why  do  you  talk  and  laugh  with 
him?"  I  saw  you  yesterday."  She  raised  the  pistol. 
"I  tell  you,  I'll  blow  you  into  kingdom  come  if  you 
don't  promise  right  now  to  give  him  up!" 

252 


Ann's    Humiliation 

As  she  advanced,  the  two  little  lads  at  play  just  out 
side  appeared  in  the  doorway,  and  the  sight  of  them 
steeled  the  little  mother's  heart.  "  Go  away,  darlin's," 
she  called  to  them.  "Quick,  run  for  dad!" 

The  woman  turned  to  see  who  was  behind  her,  and 
the  desperate  Nora  seized  her  by  the  wrist.  "  Give  me 
the  gun,"  she  called. 

"I  won't!  Le'  go  me!"  shrieked  the  intruder,  jerk 
ing  hard  in  the  effort  to  free  her  hand. 

Ann  seized  the  other  arm.  "I  promise,"  she  said, 
quietly,  fixing  her  eyes  full  upon  those  of  the  infu 
riated  woman,  who  ceased  to  struggle.  "Now  go 
away." 

"You  promise?" 

"I  promise!" 

The  woman  again  laughed  harshly,  drunkenly.  "I 
don't  trust  you.  I'll  kill  you,  then  I  know.  Let  go 
me!"  she  called.  "Let  go,  or  I'll  smash  your  face." 

"Matt!  Oh,  Matt!"  called  Nora,  as  she  clung  des 
perately  to  that  terrible  wrist. 

Help  came  from  an  unexpected  quarter.  Like  the 
flash  of  a  blue-jay's  wing,  Woo,  the  cook,  rushed  across 
the  room  and  flung  himself  on  the  mad  wretch.  His 
long  fingers  encircled  her  throat.  "  Dlop  it!"  he  curtly 
commanded.  "Dlop  gun!"  For  a  few  moments  the 
woman  struggled,  then  the  revolver  fell  to  the  floor,  and 
Ann  snatched  it  up. 

Woo  turned  the  gasping,  hiccoughing  creature  to  the 
door  and  flung  her  out  upon  the  ground.  "You 
dlunk.  Go  home.  Stop  home.  Me  sabbe  you — you 
sabbe  me,"  he  said,  as  he  bent  above  her. 

Ann  interposed.     "Don't  hurt  her,  Woo." 

He  stood  beside  her  while  she  slowly  regained  a  sit- 
253 


Hesper 

ting  posture.  "She  belly  dangelous.  Me  go  tell  Munlo. 
She  fight — me  kick." 

The  poor  creature  now  seemed  dazed  and  broken, 
and  began  to  weep,  and  with  her  tears  became  as  ab 
jectly  pitiful,  as  pathetically  tawdry,  as  she  had  been 
hideous  and  menacing  in  her  wrath.  Ann  shuddered 
with  a  bitter  nausea,  a  disorder  that  was  half  physical 
weakness,  half  mental  repulsion.  There  was  some 
thing  ghastly  beyond  words  in  this  creature  sitting  in 
utter  abandonment  in  her  rumpled  finery,  which  the 
pitiless  sun  dissected.  Stooping,  she  took  the  miser 
able  one  by  the  arm.  "Get  up!  You  must  not  sit 
there." 

Slowly  the  woman  rose,  all  thought  of  revenge  swal 
lowed  up  in  a  wave  of  maudlin  self-pity.  "You're  all 
agin  me — all  of  ye !  I  guess  you  wouldn't  like  it  to  have 
your  husband  stolen  by  another  woman — you  let  me 
alone!"  she  said  to  Woo,  with  a  flash  of  anger.  "You 
pig-tail!  what  business  you  got  to  lay  hands  on  a 
white  lady?" 

Woo's  impassive  face  betrayed  no  humor,  but  Ann 
thought  she  detected  some  mockery  in  his  voice  as  he 
said:  "Me  belly  solly.  You  fall  down,  me  catchee  you 
up.  Me  help  you  walk." 

"I'll  walk  without  any  of  your  help,  you  yellow 
snake!"  she  malevolently  replied,  and  sat  down  again. 

Nora  turned.  "Go  in  the  house,  Ann  dear.  She  is 
not  for  you  to  hear." 

But  Ann  did  not  heed  her.  She  had  never  seen  an 
intoxicated  woman  before,  and  this  sudden  change  of 
emotion  fascinated  her.  It  was  like  watching  the  con 
volutions  of  a  serpent. 

The  creature  began  to  pour  forth  a  flood  of  vile 
254 


Ann's    Humiliation 

epithets,  directed  towards  the  patient  Woo,  who  tried 
again  and  again  to  lift  her,  and  was  in  the  midst  of  a 
howl  of  wrath  when  Matt  came  round  the  corner  of 
the  house. 

"What's  all  this?"  he  asked,  sharply. 

The  woman  suddenly  rose  to  her  feet,  well  aware 
that  a  man  had  arrived,  and  began  to  mumble  and 
weep  again. 

Nora  ran  to  her  husband.  "Oh,  Matt,  drive  her 
away.  She  tried  to  kill  us." 

"Who  is  she  ?  Who  are  you,  and  what  are  you  doing 
here,  anyway?" 

The  woman,  quite  dismayed,  began  to  retreat.  "It's 
all  right.  She  promised.  I'm  ;joing  now." 

Woo  explained.  "  She  Munlo's  wife.  Belly  dlunk — 
allee  same  clazy.  Take  um  gun — go  shoot  lady."  He 
pointed  at  Ann.  "Me  choke  um.  She  fall  on  glound. 
No  get  up.  Nola  (Nora)  catchee  gun." 

Kelly  followed  the  invader.  "You  go  back  to  where 
ye  came  from,  and  stay  there,  or  'twill  be  the  worse  for 
ye,  ye  murderin'  omadhaun." 

Ann  went  to  her  room  and  flung  herself  down  upon 
her  bed  in  such  abasement  as  she  had  never  known  in 
all  her  life.  She  could  not  deceive  herself.  She  had 
brought  this  horrible  assault  upon  herself  by  something 
more  than  tolerance  of  Munro.  In  this  lay  the  sting, 
the  stain  of  the  woman's  touch.  All  of  Nora's  hints 
and  Matt's  dark  looks  at  Munro  came  back  to  her. 
"This  is  what  they  meant!"  she  exclaimed.  "This  is 
the  kind  of  women  he  associates  with.  Oh,  the  dis 
grace  of  it!" 

The  woman's  ignorance  and  tastelessness,  her  com 
mon  voice,  her  badly  fitting  garments,  her  incredible 

255 


Hesper 

baseness  of  speech,  all  came  back.  "Ann  Rupert  a 
rfrval  to  that  being!"  Of  course  she  had  n&ver  for  an 
instant  directly  encouraged  him,  and  yet  he  had  ap 
pealed  to  her  and  she  had  listened. 

"  Rob  should  have  warned  me,"  she  complained,  her 
mind  going  back  to  the  man  she  could  trust.  At  the 
moment  she  could  not  see,  or  would  not  acknowledge 
that  Raymond  had  ventured  as  far  as  he  dared  in  re 
vealing  Munro's  private  life.  She  was  too  angry  with 
herself  and  every  one  around  her  to  be  just.  As  her 
flaming  wrath  died,  she  grew  cold  and  bitter.  "This 
is  what  comes  of  going  outside  one's  own  proper  world. 
I  shall  leave  the  peak  at  once,  and  I  hope  I  shall  never 
see  it  or  hear  it  spoken  of  again." 

She  did  not  show  herself  at  supper,  and  when  Nora 
came  to  inquire  if  she  were  ill,  she  was  calm  enough  to 
say:  "Yes,  I  am  sick  with  disgust.  I  wish  you  would 
ask  Matt  to  keep  this  from  Mr.  Raymond  and  Louis. 
I  want  to  put  it  all  out  of  my  mind  as  soon  as  pos 
sible."  And  she  covered  her  eyes  with  her  fingers. 

Whether  Nora  divined  the  inner  quality  of  Ann's 
grief  and  shame  or  not,  she  was  tactful  enough  to  with 
draw  without  another  word. 


xvnr 

Raymond    Reveals    His    Secret 

A'JN'S  disgust  and  bitterness  of  self -accusation  wore 
away  as  she  faced  the  resolving  sunlight  and  meas 
ured  her  scars  against  the  breast  of  mighty  Mogalyon. 
In  the  dawn  of  the  second  day  the  incident,  having  lost 
much  of  its  shame  and  terror,  was  debatable,  and  under 
Matt's  kindly  counsel  she  reached  a  certain  resignation. 

"  No  one  but  ourselves  need  know  what  took  place," 
he  said,  in  conclusion.  ''Woo  is  no  tale-bearer,  and 
when  the  woman  herself  sobers  off,  she'll  not  remember 
a  word  of  it.  Furthermore,  I  warned  her  that  Jack 
would  wring  her  neck  if  he  knew  what  she  had  done. 
So  I  wouldn't  give  another  thought  of  it — not  one." 

"I'll  try  to  forget  it,"  she  promised,  humbly,  but  she 
could  not  at  once  put  the  experience  out  of  mind. 
She  could  only  wait  for  that  besotted  face  to  fade  into 
a  grisly  apparition.  In  the  end,  she  pitied  the  poor 
woman  who  loved  and  was  willing  to  defend  her  love. 

Raymond  was  chilled  by  the  change  in  Ann — by  a 
return  to  the  cold  aloofness  of  her  manner  at  Barnett's, 
and  was  profoundly  troubled  by  it. 

He  spoke  to  Louis  about  it.  "Has  your  sister  any 
bad  news?" 

The  boy  stared.     " No,  I  don't  think  so.     Why?" 

"  She  seems  changed  some  way.  She  isn't  so  happy." 
17  257 


Hesper 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  worry  about  that.  She  is  always 
getting  bored  with  something  or  other."  There  wasn't 
much  comfort  in  this  frank  speech,  and  the  keen-witted 
lad  became  aware  of  its  implications.  "But  she  isn't 
bored  with  you.  She  likes  you  now,  all  right.  She's 
changed  her  mind  about  you." 

Raymond  knew  that  he  ought  not  to  probe  deeper, 
but  he  did.  "How  do  you  know?" 

"If  you  could  hear  the  'spiels'  she  gives  me  now 
about  obeying  you,  and  keeping  at  your  elbow,  I  guess 
you'd  see  a  difference.  She  used  to  talk  against  you 
to  me — now  all  that  is  changed." 

"Boy,  you're  picking  up  a  deal  of  slang." 

"I  like  it."  His  lips  fairly  smacked  and  his  eyes 
shone.  "It  says  just  what  you  want  to  say.  Father 
liked  it,  too.  Don't  you  remember  when  he  tried  to 
put  down  just  what  a  group  of  hunters  said?" 

"  It  is  all  well  enough,  if  you  don't  let  it  get  the  upper- 
hand  of  you  the  way  it  has  with  me.  I  was  well 
brought  up  in  that  regard,  and  now  listen  to  me,"  and 
in  this  way  he  led  the  boy's  mind  into  safe  channels. 

The  day  following  Ann's  visit,  Munro  rode  down  as 
usual  to  call,  and  seemed  amazed  when  Mrs.  Kelly 
greeted  him  coldly.  "Ann  does  not  want  to  see  you 
or  any  one  else  this  morning — you,  least  of  all." 

Munro  whistled.  "Another  cold  blast.  It's  sure 
draughty  up  here  on  the  side-hill,  isn't  it?  What  do 
you  suppose  is  the  cause  of  it?" 

Nora  closed  the  door  gently  but  firmly.  "No  mat 
ter;  she  will  not  see  you."  And  the  puzzled  vedette 
rode  thoughtfully  away. 

Two  days  later  he  came  again,  about  the  middle  of 

258 


Raymond    Reveals    His    Secret 

the  afternoon,  and,  stepping  into  the  open  door,  called 
out,  jauntily :  "  Good-afternoon,  Nora.  Has  the  weath 
er  moderated  down  here  yet  already?" 

Nora  looked  up  from  her  sewing,  and  her  big  eyes 
grew  stern.  "Ye  might  knock  like  a  gentleman,  Mr. 
Jack  Munro." 

"I  might,  indade,  but  as  the  portal  stood  ajar  I 
thought  I  might  venture  in.  Is  the  Lady  Ann  Grey 
receiving  to-day?" 

From  the  inner  room  a  clear,  low  voice,  icy  as  a 
mountain-stream,  replied,  "Miss  Rupert  is  not  receiv 
ing  Captain  Munro  to-day  or  at  any  other  time." 

He  took  a  step  towards  the  door.  "What  have  I 
done  to  get  a  crack  like  that?" 

The  door  closed  with  a  decided  jar  and  a  bolt  slid. 

Munro  bowed.  "I  understand.  I  take  the  hint; 
but  some  day  when  you  are  feeling  jolly  I'd  like  to 
know  what  has  frosted  the  air  down  here  among  the 
aspens." 

"I  can  tell  you,"  said  Nora,  with  the  directness  of  a 
woman  who  has  known  rough  men  all  her  life.  "Ann 
has  learned  the  kind  of  life  you  live,  and  she  despises 
the  sight  of  your  face." 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Munro  was  confounded. 
He  stood  for  a  moment  revolving  an  explanation.  At 
last  he  said,  "You  mustn't  take  an  enemy's  report  of 
me." 

"  We  do  not,"  said  Nora,  calmly.  "  Your  wife  called 
on  us  a  couple  o'  days  ago." 

"My  wife!" 

"The  woman  who  calls  herself  your  wife;  'tis  all  one 
so  far  as  we  are  concerned." 

Munro  frowned.  "Claire  called!  Here?"  Then, 
259 


Hesper 

with  a  leer  that  was  characteristic  of  him,  he  added, 
"  I  hope  you  had  a  pleasant  chat." 

"Ask  her.     She  did  all  the  talkin'." 

Munro  became  very  serious  and  very  winning.  "  Now, 
see  here,  Nora — " 

''Call  me  Mrs.  Kelly,"  she  interposed,  shortly. 

He  was  not  smiling  now.  His  heart  was  in  his  voice. 
"  You  tell  Ann  not  to  misjudge  me.  She  must  give  me 
a  chance  to  square  myself.  I  don't  claim  to  be  a  saint, 
but  I've  been  open  and  above-board  with  every  man 
or  woman  I've  ever  had  any  dealings  with.  What 
ever  my  past  has  been,  I'm  living  on  a  different  plane 
now.  I've  cut  off  all  my  old  habits  for  her  sake.  I'm 
trying  to  live  up  to  her  standard  of  things.  I  know 
she's  better  than  I  am,  but  I  can  climb.  My  family  is 
as  good  as  hers.  I  started  right,  and  with  the  help  of 
a  good  woman  I  can  get  back  to  where  I  was."  His 
voice  was  tense  with  passion  as  he  spoke.  His  jocu 
larity,  his  insolence,  had  dropped  from  him,  and  he 
stood  revealed,  the  passionate,  unscrupulous  lover  that 
he  was.  "I  claim  the  work  I'm  doing  here  is  worthy 
her  approval.  Ask  her  to  let  me  see  her  again." 

Nora  turned  her  face  towards  Ann's  door,  and  both 
waited  in  silence;  but  no  sound  came  from  the  inner 
room,  and  Nora,  seeing  suffering  in  the  lines  of  his 
face,  said,  more  kindly:  "  Ye  may  as  well  go.  The  door 
will  not  open  to  you  this  day  nor  any  other." 

Munro  turned  and  went  out  with  bowed  head,  and 
Nora  could  not  doubt  the  sincerity  of  his  pain. 

With  all  these  swiftly  alternating  flashes  of  joy  and 
shame,  Ann  could  not  but  exult  over  her  recovered  in 
terest  in  life.  It  was  as  if  the  veil  between  herself  and 

260 


Raymond    Reveals    His    Secret 

the  world  of  men  had  burned  away  beneath  the  vivid 
sunlight  of  the  peak.  She  rose  each  day  to  a  closer 
touch  with  the  ordinary  emotions  of  ordinary  people. 
Something  within  her  rang  in  response  to  Raymond's 
voice,  and  his  eyes  resting  upon  her  gave  her  pleasure. 
The  whole  world  of  human  affairs  freshened  in  interest 
precisely  as  the  outer  world  —  the  world  of  peak  and 
sky — grew  each  day  more  vividly  beautiful. 

"Living  on  this  mountain-top,"  her  father  wrote  in 
his  journal,  "is  like  being  diurnally  in  the  proscenium- 
box  of  a  theatre  horizon  wide,  in  which  clouds  are  the 
actors,  electricity  the  illuminator,  and  thunder  the 
trumpeter.  It  broadens  a  man's  breast  and  expands 
his  mental  horizon." 

At  times  every  summit  seemed  to  flare  with  fire,  and 
the  girl  tingled  with  some  mysterious  dancing  flame 
which  invaded  her  blood  and  filled  her  with  some  sub 
tle,  magnetic  power.  Her  hair  rose  beneath  her  toilet- 
comb  as  if  fluffed  by  a  crackling  breeze.  Her  limbs 
felt  lighter,  nimbler,  and  she  grew  gayer  of  voice  and 
readier  of  smile.  Her  work  around  the  cabin  became 
a  pleasure  as  her  arms  grew  firm  and  her  hands  deft, 
and  with  this  return  of  perfect  health,  this  content 
with  her  new  world,  the  old  life  receded  far.  Only 
now  and  then,  when  some  letter  from  London  or  Paris 
reached  her,  did  she  give  a  thought  to  the  balls,  recep 
tions,  and  operas  she  was  missing.  She  remembered 
this  social  Eastern  world  as  an  invalid  recalls  some 
scene,  beautiful  in  itself,  but  inextricably  bound  up 
with  disagreeable  or  painful  memories.  The  splendors 
of  New  York  and  Paris  were  grayed  by  the  cold  light 
of  her  old  indifferentism. 

She  spent  many  delicious  nights  beside  the  fire  in 
261 


Hesper 

the  bungalow,  when,  lying  at  ease  in  a  big  bear-skin, 
she  listened  to  Raymond  as  he  read  from  the  journal, 
or  to  Matt  as  he  related  with  delicious  humor  a  chap 
ter  out  of  his  adventurous  life. 

In  answer  to  one  of  her  correspondents  she  wrote: 

"I  am  working  with  my  hands,  helping  my  dear  little 
friend  Mrs.  Kelly  cook  and  sew.  The  big  strike  which 
you  read  of  does  not  trouble  us,  for  we  have  strong  pro 
tectors.  It  seems  to  have  settled  into  a  sort  of  siege,  any 
way.  I  haven't  any  idea  when  I  am  to  return.  I  came 
West,  as  you  know,  for  my  brother's  health,  and  he  is  so 
much  happier  here  I  cannot  think  of  asking  him  to  go 
home,  and,  besides,  he  is  growing  up  rapidly,  and  I  don't 
think  he  would  go,  and  I  daren't  leave  him,  at  least  not 
till  I  make  sure  how  the  climate  is  going  to  affect  him. 
Besides,  I  like  it  here.  I  am  a  'bouncing  dairy-maid'  in 
appearance,  so  don't  commiserate  me.  When  I  am  bored 
here,  I  can  go  down  to  Cousin  Don's." 

One  morning  Ann  rose  to  a  singular  light.  In  place 
of  the  clear,  golden  sunshine,  which  had  so  often  glori 
fied  her  room,  a  blue-gray  mist  lay  thick  against  her 
window-pane.  Raising  the  sash,  she  put  her  hand 
into  it — it  was  like  smoke,  dry  and  cold!  Dressing 
hurriedly  she  entered  the  sitting-room,  where  Matt 
was  helping  his  sons  to  dress. 

"What  is  going  to  happen?"  she  asked.  "Does 
this  mean  a  storm?" 

'  Tis  a  curious  cloud,  sure,  and  fairly  drippin' 
with  electricity.  Did  ye  feel  it  in  your  hair?  The 
lads'  crackled  like  cats." 

"Yes,  indeed!  But  isn't  it  grewsome?  This  light 
is  so  strange.  Will  it  stay  long?" 

262 


Raymond    Reveals    His    Secret 

"No  tellin'.  It's  only  wan  o'  them  clouds  of  the 
peak  settled  down  on  us.  It  may  hang  about  us  all 
day,  or  it  may  lift  and  pass  away  in  ten  minutes." 

She  stepped  to  the  door  and  looked  out  with  vague 
alarm.  The  vapor  had  blotted  out  the  world;  noth 
ing  could  be  seen  but  the  faint  forms  of  one  or  two 
cabins  and  a  clump  of  nearby  trees,  and  she  went 
back  shivering  and  a  little  depressed.  "I  don't  like 
to  leave  the  peak  on  such  a  day,"  she  said,  at  last. 
"I  think  I'll  stay  till  the  sun  comes  out.  I  want  to 
think  of  it  as  it  has  been — radiant  and  inspiriting." 

The  cloud  hung  moveless  for  hours,  impenetrable, 
yet  resisting.  A  hush  was  in  the  air  as  though  some 
disaster,  concealed  as  yet,  was  about  to  be  discovered. 
About  ten  o'clock,  as  she  stood  on  the  steps  wondering 
whether  to  cross  to  the  bungalow  or  not,  Raymond 
burst  from  the  obscurity. 

"  Good-morning,"  called  Ann.  "  Isn't  this  a  strange 
effect?" 

His  eyes  were  shining,  his  face  pale,  and  his  voice 
vibrant  as  he  abruptly  said,  "Come  with  me;  the 
time  has  come.  I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

"What  has  happened?"  she  asked,  in  alarm. 

He  took  her  by  the  arm.  "You  promised  to  listen; 
you  are  not  afraid  of  me,  are  you?" 

"No,  but  I  do  not  understand.  Where  is  Louis? 
Has  anything  happened  to  him?" 

"Louis  is  safe  with  Kelly.  I  want  to  see  you,  be 
cause  things  have  happened  to  me.  Come  —  I  must 
see  you  alone." 

They  moved  off  up  the  path  towards  the  overlook, 
and,  notwithstanding  her  brave  words,  the  girl  wavered 
in  the  gust  of  this  man's  over-mastering  excitement. 

263 


Hesper 

The  mist  closed  round  them,  all  signs  of  other  human 
presence  disappeared,  and  they  soon  stood  alone  in  a 
world  of  gray  light  wherein  neither  sky  nor  horizon- 
line  appeared.  All  that  remained  of  the  earth  was  a 
little  strip  of  gravel  beneath  their  feet. 

Raymond  stopped  at  last  and  held  towards  Ann  a 
small,  irregular  piece  of  rock.  "Do  you  see  that?"  he 
hoarsely  inquired. 

She  took  it  wonderingly.     "Is  it  ore?" 

"Yes,  and  it's  heavy  with  gold.  Kelly's  luck  has 
won  again.  We've  opened  a  vein  that  will  make  us 
both  rich."  There  was  no  tremor  or  doubt  in  his 
tone. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad!"  she  cried  out,  with  unaffected 
pleasure.  "Now  Mrs.  Kelly  can  go  to  live  in  the 
valley." 

"Never  mind  the  Kelly s  now,"  he  cried  out,  im 
patiently.  "I  have  a  great  deal  to  say  to  you  and  I 
want  to  say  it  here.  I  have  lacked  courage;  now  I 
feel — you  know  what  I  mean — you  know  what  you've 
been  to  me.  I'm  going  to  try  and  win  you."  His 
manner  was  exultant,  his  voice  tense  with  passion. 
"I  am  bold  to  recklessness  to-day." 

"And  all  because  you  hold  a  little  piece  of  yellow 
rock  in  your  hand,"  she  wonderingly  said,  trying  to 
comprehend  him.  "You  may  be  mistaken  about  the 
gold." 

"I  left  Kelly  on  his  knees  trying  to  figure  out  the 
value  of  a  car-load  of  the  rock.  Yes,  all  because  of 
that  little  lump  of  ore  I  want  to  say  that  I  love  you, 
and  I  start  on  my  third  phase  of  life  at  this  moment." 
Some  mysterious  potency  emanating  from  the  piece 
of  metal  seemed  to  flow  into  his  veins  as  he  shut  his 

264 


Raymond    Reveals    His    Secret 

strong,  brown  hand  upon  it.  He  had  never  been 
humble;  now  he  rose  above  her,  masterful,  an  avowed 
lover,  and  his  eyes  burning  down  into  hers  made  her 
shrink  and  shiver  as  if  from  cold. 

He  misread  the  movement .  ' '  Are  you  warm  enough  ? ' ' 
he  asked,  tenderly.  "  I  hope  you  are,  for  I  want  to  tell 
you  —  explain  to  you  —  why  I  am  here.  Let  us  sit 
here."  He  indicated  a  flat  rock.  "This  is  our  only 
opportunity;  no  one  will  know  —  no  one  can  see  us. 
Will  you  listen?" 

"I  will  listen,"  she  said,  quietly,  and  took  a  seat, 
drawing  her  cloak  about  her. 

He  took  a  seat  a  little  in  front,  so  that  he  could  see 
her  face,  which  was  radiant  as  a  rose  in  the  mist. 
"I've  been  trying  to  write  you  a  letter  ever  since 
you  came.  I  wanted  to  set  myself  right  with  you  on 
Louis'  account.  I  love  the  lad,  and  I  wanted  you  to 
know  that  I  was  trying  to  do  him  good." 

"I  know  that.     I  trust  you  now." 

"That  assurance  is  sweet  to  me;  but  I  want  to  tell 
you  now  that  the  only  mystery  in  my  life  is  this :  I  am 
a  West  Point  cadet — I  mean,  I  was— 

"Were  you,  really?"  She  looked  at  him  with  such 
unmistakable  relief  and  gladness  that  he  faltered. 

"Wait.  I  was  only  there  two  years.  I  was  court- 
martialed  for  breach  of  discipline  and  gross  insub 
ordination  at  the  beginning  of  my  third  year." 

Her  face  grew  very  grave.  "I  am  sorry  to  hear 
that." 

He  hastened  on.  "You  mustn't  judge  me  hastily. 
It  came  on  my  return  after  furlough;  that's  the  time 
when  the  routine  and  discipline  pinches  hardest  on  the 
men  After  two  years  of  grind  that  I  hated,  I  had  a 

265 


Hesper 

visit  home — a  delicious,  free  time  —  and  to  get  back 
into  school,  back  into  those  cold,  gray  barracks,  was 
like  going  into  a  strait-jacket.  The  first  few  weeks 
after  the  vacation  are  times  of  disorder  —  a  period  of 
boyish  deviltry ;  and  I  took  my  share  in  it.  My  breach 
of  discipline  was  nothing  more  than  a  boy's  frolic.  I 
should  have  been  punished  for  it,  and  that  would  have 
ended  it.  But  I  hated  one  of  the  officers — the  discipli 
narian —  and  when  he  rounded  me  up  he  rasped  me 
till  I  lost  my  head.  Being  a  quick-tempered  youth,  I 
answered  him.  He  abused  me  shamefully  and  I  struck 
him  in  the  face,  and  that  ended  my  stay  at  West 
Point." 

"  Oh,  how  foolish!     How  wrong!" 

"No;  it  was  not  wrong.  I  would  do  it  again.  The 
small  sneak  used  a  tone  in  addressing  me  which  no 
man  has  a  right  to  use  to  another.  You  wouldn't 
suppose  a  tone  could  hurt,  but  it  did;  it  cut  like  a  lash. 
Well,  that  ended  my  career  as  a  soldier.  My  home  was 
on  the  Ohio  River,  not  far  from  Cincinnati,  and  my  fam 
ily  still  lives  there.  Our  whole  country  is  rich  in  tra 
ditions  of  General  Grant,  and  my  father  had  selected 
me  out  of  all  his  sons  to  be  the  soldier  of  his  family 
— you  know  how  some  men  try  to  map  their  sons'  ca 
reers.  Well,  he  had  trained  me  towards  my  career 
by  putting  before  me  biographies  of  the  great  soldiers 
and  leaders  of  the  world.  How  I  hated  those  ponder 
ous  tomes!  He  was  a  proud  man — a  vain  man — his 
neighbors  said,  and  as  our  house  looked  down  and 
over  the  town,  so  he  looked  down  on  business  and 
politics.  He  had  a  theory  that  the  United  States 
was  soon  to  enter  on  a  war  with  all  the  world,  and 
that  his  son's  great  brain  was  needed,  and  that  I  was 

266 


Raymond    Reveals    His    Secret 

destined  to  become  a  military  genius.  I  considered 
all  this  tommy -rot,  and  that  I  was  really  being  educated 
to  go  West  and  kill  Apaches;  but  he  was  sincere." 
With  a  glance  in  which  humor  lay,  he  asked,  "  Don't 
you  see,  I  couldn't  go  home?" 

"Yes,  I  can  see  it  was  hard  for  your  father.  Was 
your  mother  living?" 

"Yes,  she's  living  yet.  I  write  her  every  week;  but 
not  one  word  has  passed  between  my  father  and  me 
since  my  dismissal.  Naturally  enough,  I  drifted  West 
and  into  cattle-ranching.  I  liked  the  excitement  of  it, 
and  I'd  been  trained  to  ride  and  to  shoot.  I  gradu 
ally  became  cow-boss  and  foreman,  and  so  you  found 
me,  with  a  few  thousand  dollars  saved  up.  Your  com 
ing  changed  every  current  in  my  life.  I  became  am 
bitious  to  do  something,  to  be  rich.  I  came  here,  I 
bought  this  mine,  and  there  shines  my  gold."  He  held 
it  towards  her  again.  "  Now  I  can  go  home.  My  court- 
martial  becomes  a  joke.  Don't  you  see?  My  father  is 
human.  He  would  not  receive  me,  poor  and  dis 
graced.  With  a  big  mine  behind  me  the  case  will  be 
different." 

"Are  we  all  purchasable  with  gold?"  she  asked. 

His  high  mood  sank  a  little.  "Don't  misjudge 
me.  It's  not  so  clear  in  my  mind  as  when  I  met 
you  at  the  door.  Money  docs  help  —  you  know 
it  does.  It  extends  a  man's  power;  it  makes  him 
effective  for  good,  if  good  is  in  him.  I  was  a  rancher 
when  you  met  me;  we  stood  in  a  different  relation 
from  that  which  we  occupy  now.  Isn't  that  true?" 

"Yes,"  she  slowly  answered;  "but  it  isn't  because 
of  your  mine." 

"What  is  it  because  of?" 
267 


Hesper 

"It  is  because  you  have  been  kind  and  considerate 
of  my  brother." 

He  looked  disappointed.  "Is  that  all?  I  hoped 
you  liked  me  for  myself." 

"I  do — like  you,"  she  answered. 

"Can  you  not  love  me?" 

"Do  not  press  me."  She  spoke  sharply,  a  flash 
of  resentment  in  her  eyes. 

"I  didn't  intend  to  do  so,"  he  humbly  replied. 
"I  fear  I've  made  a  mess  of  it,  just  as  I  have  with 
all  the  rest  of  my  life;  but  this  morning  when  we 
uncovered  that  vein  it  seemed  as  though  I  had  a 
chance  to  recover  my  place  in  the  world.  Now — "  He 
tossed  the  fragment  of  ore  over  the  cliff.  "There's 
nothing  in  it."  The  flippant  bitterness  of  his  final 
words  touched  Ann,  but  she  did  not  speak,  and  he 
went  on.  "My  excitement  must  have  seemed  funny 
to  you,  but  I  really  thought  my  piece  of  ore  would 
help  me — "  He  turned  to  her  again  with  a  sterner 
line  in  his  brow.  "It  is  only  fair  to  me  to  say  that 
I  am  not  in  any  sense  apologetic  for  my  family.  I 
believe  it  to  be  as  good  as  the  best.  I  am  proud  of 
my  father,  of  his  unyielding  democracy;  although  a 
natural  aristocrat,  he  holds  to  the  traditions  that  have 
made  America  great.  My  mother  is  of  good  stock. 
You  may  call  me  egotistic  or  anything  you  please, 
but  so  far  as  my  people  are  concerned  I  believe  them 
to  be  the  equals  of  any  one.  I  have  gone  wrong. 
I've  wasted  ten  years  of  my  life  masquerading  here 
and  there,  but  that  is  finished.  Since  I  saw  you  life 
began  to  be  serious  business  with  me.  You  smile, 
but  you  know  what  I  mean,  and  if  you  would  only 
give  me  time  I  would  make  you  proud  of  me."  He 

268 


Raymond    Reveals    His    Secret 

paused  and  looked  about  him.  The  mist  seemed  light 
ening,  as  if  infiltrated  with  a  golden  vapor.  It  was  in 
motion  also,  and  far  to  the  westward  small  patches  of 
blue  sky  showed  momentarily.  "It  is  clearing,"  he 
said,  in  a  quiet  voice,  though  his  eyes  were  wet.  "The 
west  wind  is  setting  in." 

The  beauty  of  the  girl  as  she  faced  him  there  in  the 
mist  was  so  shining,  so  all-conquering  in  its  pulse 
and  glow,  that  his  lover's  courage  returned  to  him 
and  he  spoke  again,  almost  fiercely:  "I  love  you, 
and  I  want  you  to  know  it.  Sometime  I  will  ask  you 
to  be  my  wife." 

"You  must  not  do  that,"  she  cried  out.  "You  must 
not  think  of  it.  You  will  only  lead  up  to  disappoint 
ment.  Don't  you  see  how  impossible  it  is?  You  are 
of  the  West,  I  am  a  city  dweller.  Our  ways  of  life  are 
so  different." 

He  remained  unshaken.  "Do  you  believe  in  fate? 
I  do.  Think  how  mysteriously  we  were  brought  to 
gether  on  that  ranch.  Why  did  that  bullet  cut  me 
down  at  that  time  ?  It  must  have  been  for  some  pur 
pose.  To  me  it  was  a  warning,  a  portent  to  lead  me 
out  of  my  foolish  and  trivial  life.  In  those  long  weeks 
of  confinement  I  took  account  of  myself.  I  was  at 
the  bottom,  but  I  was  not  dead.  I  said, '  I  will  climb.' 
I  needed  money  first  of  all  and  so  I  set  to  work  to  win 
it.  I  had  a  conviction  that  I  would  win,  and  this 
morning  when  I  took  that  piece  of  ore  in  my  hand 
I  knew  that  nature  had  answered  my  prayer;  so  I 
came  to  you  to  ask  your  help — your  love — to  make 
my  life  worth  living." 

She  moved  uneasily.  "I  am  not  fitted  to  help 
you.  My  whole  life  and  training  have  been  such 

269 


Hesper 

that  I  am  totally  unfitted  for  the  life  you  would  lead. 
Please  do  not  misread  me,  it  is  not  a  question  of  your 
wealth  or  your  poverty.  It's  my  own  way  of  life, 
my  own  mind.  I  don't  want  to  hurt  you,  but  I  must 
tell  you  that  it  is  impossible  to  think  of — quite  im 
possible!"  and  she  turned  away  towards  the  cabin,  now 
half  disclosed. 

She  was  cruelly  effective  in  the  tone  of  this  reply, 
and  the  man  walked  silently  beside  her,  benumbed 
by  the  finality  of  her  inflection.  Not  till  they  reached 
the  cabin  did  he  recover  his  self-control. 

"I  accept  my  defeat,"  he  said,  slowly.  "You  are 
perfectly  right.  It  was  pure  presumption  on  my  part." 

"I  did  not  say  that,  and  you  must  not  put  me 
in  the  attitude  of  scorning  your  —  your  regard.  I 
simply  say  you  are  mistaken  in  me.  I  could  not 
make  you  happy — because  I  don't  expect  to  be  happy 
myself.  I  have  come  to  respect  you,  to  like  you  very 
much;  but  you  must  not  ask  me  to  be  your  wife,  for 
that  would  only  lead  to  sorrow." 

"Hello!"  shouted  Louis.  "Where  you  people 
been?  Have  you  told  her,  Rob?" 

The  door  was  open  and  Kelly  and  the  two  lads 
were  on  the  floor  picking  at  a  small  sack  of  ore.  Mrs. 
Kelly  looked  up  at  Ann,  laughing,  with  tears  on  her 
cheeks.  "  I  don't  believe  it,  not  one  word  of  it!  And 
if  it's  true,  Rob,  I  want  you  to  keep  it  for  us." 

"Yes,"  said  Kelly,  "I've  been  of  use  to  you  in 
finding  it,  now  do  you  be  of  use  to  me  in  keeping  it." 

"I  will,  Matt!"  said  Raymond,  and  the  two  men 
shook  hands  on  a  new  compact.  Both  Matt  and  Nora 
were  too  engrossed  with  their  new-found  riches  to  ob 
serve  the  deep  sadness  of  Raymond's  face. 

270 


Raymond    Reveals    His   Secret 

"Now,"  said  Kelly,  "watch  out  for  Curran;  he'll 
bate  us  out  of  it  if  he  can.  I  depend  on  you  to  stand 
off  the  lawyers  and  the  gamblers." 

"The  mist  is  rising,"  called  Ann  from  the  door 
way. 

As  she  spoke  a  tremendous  report  arose  from  the 
obscurity  where  the  fog  still  clung. 

"Now  what  was  that?"  queried  Matt,  and  all  stood 
transfixed  with  surprise  and  vague  apprehension. 

Another  and  duller  report  followed  —  one  that 
shook  the  ground.  Kelly  rushed  to  the  door  just  in 
time  to  see  a  vast  balloon-shaped  cloud  of  smoke  rise 
majestically  above  the  mist,  bulging  into  the  blue 
sky  above. 

"Now  they've  done  it!"  he  called,  in  a  curiously 
reflective  tone  that  was  almost  comic. 

"What  was  that?"  asked  Ann. 

"Some  crazy  divil  under  cover  of  the  mist  has 
dynamited  the  Red  Star  shaft-house." 

Even  as  they  waited,  listening  to  faint  cries,  the 
wind  swept  the  hill-side  clear  and  Kelly's  fears  were 
verified.  In  ruins  and  on  fire  the  Red  Star  shaft- 
house  and  mill  lay  scattered  over  its  dump,  and 
towards  it  the  whole  camp  seemed  hastening. 

"Oh,  the  unholy  jackasses!"  muttered  Kelly. 
"They've  opened  the  door  to  the  witches  now.  Come, 
Rob.  We  may  be  the  next  to  suffer." 

Raymond,  as  he  was  about  to  follow  his  partner, 
turned  and  said  to  Ann:  "I  hope  you  will  not  let 
my  folly  lose  me  what  I  had  gained — your  friend 
ship." 

"You  have  lost  nothing  by  your  frankness.  I  am 
glad  to  have  had  you  tell  me  so  much  of  your  story." 

271 


Hesper 

"I  promise  not  to  return  to  it,"  he  answered,  and 
the  finality  of  his  voice  sent  a  little  pang  of  regret  to 
the  girl's  heart.  Of  course  it  was  best;  but,  after  all, 
she  would  not  have  him  put  aside  too  easily  the  love 
that  had  shone  in  the  depth  of  his  quiet  eyes. 


XIX 

Peabody    Visits    Sky-Town 

THE  blowing  up  of  the  Red  Star  mill  and  shaft- 
house  shook  the  entire  district  with  its  possibilities 
of  further  violence,  and  concealed  beneath  its  dust  and 
smoke  the  rich  discovery  in  the  Kelly  mine.  Even  faith 
ful  Jim  Dolan  did  not  know  of  it  for  several  days,  and 
the  partners  had  time  to  calculate  chances  and  plan  for 
the  buying-in  of  the  property. 

The  din  of  controversy  was  deafening.  The  labor 
leaders  disclaimed  all  knowledge  of  the  outrage,  and 
roundly  condemned  it  for  the  foolishly  destructive  act 
it  really  was.  Kelly  marched  in  among  them  like  a 
grizzly  bear,  and  stormed  thunderously.  "You  are 
responsible,"  he  growled.  "You  sit  here  and  send  out 
appeals  to  the  world  while  these  hounds  work  their 
will.  Where  was  Munro  and  his  regulators?" 

"They  can't  be  everywhere,"  explained  Carter.  " No 
one  supposed  such  a  thing  could  happen  in  the  day 
light." 

"Ye're  all  a  set  o'  chicken-heads.  Ye've  created  a 
power  ye  can't  control.  I  give  ye  notice  that  if  ye 
don't  go  after  the  thieves  that  did  this  work,  I'll  or 
ganize  a  vigilance  committee  and  take  charge  of  the 
whole  gang  of  yez."  And  he  strode  out  of  the  room, 
leaving  the  officers  of  the  union  disgraced  and  angry, 
is  273 


Hesper 

He  confessed  to  Raymond  on  his  return  that  it  was  a 
foolish  action. 

"It  was,  Matt.  You  couldn't  have  done  a  worse 
thing.  A  large  number  of  these  Dago  miners  already 
consider  us  their  enemies,  and  this  will  confirm  them. 
We  might  as  well  take  steps  to-night  to  get  our  party 
of  the  third  part  in  some  sort  of  organization." 

All  this  excitement  and  worry  aided  Raymond  in 
tiding  over  the  day,  but  when  midnight  came,  and  the 
committee  had  slipped  away  into  the  night,  his  sense  of 
loss  and  a  feeling  of  loneliness  took  possession  of  him. 
Ann  had  announced  her  intention  to  return  to  the 
Springs  at  the  end  of  the  week,  and  though  she  had 
vaguely  promised  to  visit  the  peak  again,  Raymond 
was  not  deceived.  "  She  is  leaving  to  escape  daily  con 
tact  with  me.  Our  good  comradeship  is  gone  forever;'* 
and  with  this  conviction  the  gleam  of  gold  in  his  ore 
grew  dim  and  his  confidence  in  the  future  less  buoyant. 

"She's  quite  right,"  he  admitted  to  his  better  judg 
ment.  "A  mining-camp  is  no  place  for  her,  or  for 
Nora.  Since  the  destruction  of  that  mill  it  is  even  less 
desirable  than  before  as  a  place  of  residence." 

While  on  his  way  to  the  bungalow  the  following  af 
ternoon,  he  met  Munro  accompanying  a  stranger,  a  big, 
blond,  handsome  fellow  in  a  gray  travelling-suit  and 
soft  hat.  His  face  was  plump  and  his  brown  beard 
close-clipped,  and,  though  he  realized  that  he  was  more 
or  less  in  durance,  his  eyes  were  smiling. 

Munro  called  out,  "Rob,  do  you  know  this  chap?" 

"I  do  not." 

Munro  turned  to  his  prisoner.  "  I  thought  you  were 
lying." 

The  stranger  remained  untroubled.  "I  didn't  say 
274 


Peabody    Visits    Sky-Town 

I  knew  Mr.  Raymond,  I  merely  said  that  I  wanted  you 
to  take  me  to  him.  Mr.  Raymond,  I  am  Wayne  Pea- 
body,  an  old-time  friend  of  Miss  Rupert.  Will  you 
please  explain  to  this  knight  of  the  hills  that  I  am  in  no 
wise  interested  in  his  strike?" 

Raymond  looked  at  him  keenly.  So  this  was  the 
Eastern  lover — this  fat,  fair  man.  "I  think  I  have 
heard  of  you,"  he  began,  slowly. 

Louis'  arrival  relieved  the  awkwardness  of  the  mo 
ment.  "Hello,  Mr.  Peabody,  how  did  you  get  here?" 

Peabody  caught  at  the  boy's  hand.  "Well,  well, 
Louis;  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  You  save  my  life.  How 
is  Ann?" 

41  Fine!  You  ought  to  see  her  work.  She's  brown  as 
oak.  Come  on,  I'll  take  you  to  her.  Gee!  she'll  be 
glad  to  see  you." 

As  Peabody  excused  himself  and  made  off,  Munro, 
with  a  world  of  meaning  in  his  tone,  softly  swore. 

"  Well,  by if  I'd  known  that,  I  would  have  killed  him 

and  laid  him  away  under  a  little  rock.  I  wouldn't  mind 
your  getting  her,  but  if  that  fat  chump  thinks  he  can 
come  in  here  and  run  off  our  choicest  one,  he's  mis 
taken.  She  turned  me  down  flat  the  other  day,  and  it 
hurt.  It  hurts  worse  now  that  I've  seen  the  other 
man.  I  really  hoped  you  were  the  winner." 

"She's  out  of  our  world,  Jack,"  replied  Raymond, 
and  a  large  part  of  his  resentment  of  Munro 's  imper 
tinence  vanished  with  the  knowledge  that  he  was  a 
fellow-sufferer  in  despair. 

Munro  went  on,  gravely:  "She  had  me  going,  sure 
thing.  Why,  I  stopped  drinking— just  as  I  told  you 
I  would— and  I  cut  off  Claire—  Say,  boy,  that  was  a 
severe  job]  She  raised  dust  for  a  day  or  two,  but  when 

275 


Hesper 

the  queen  of  heaven  gave  me  my  jolt,  I  said  '  w'at-the- 
good,'  and  slipped  into  my  old  ways."  He  made  a  queer 
little  gulp  as  though  swallowing  a  pill.  "  Well,  Claire's 
happy,  anyhow.  Do  you  remember  what  old  '  Coal-oil 
Sam'  used  to  say?  'Life's  a  curious  concatenation  of 
categorical  coincidents.'  Think  of  us  strutting  around 
the  parade-ground  in  front  of  '  the  seats  of  the  visitors ' 
with  intent  to  beat  out  old  Grant,  and  here  we  are. 
I'm  policing  a  mining-camp,  and  you're  pawing  dirt 
like  a  woodchuck.  '  What  a  fall  is  there,  my  brother!' " 

"Don't  dig  up  mouldy  bones,  Jack." 

"  Do  you  know,  that's  the  comical  twist  to  it.  I  like 
to  think  over  those  days.  I'd  like  to  go  back.  I'm 
told  we're  a  'tradition'  there  now  as  'the  men  who 
swatted  a  tac.'  That's  my  one  bitter  memory,  that  I 
let  you  do  the  swatting.  I  ought  to  have  wallered 
him." 

Raymond  did  not  enjoy  Munro's  tone,  and  changed 
the  subject.  "What  are  you  going  to  do  now?" 

Munro  ceased  to  laugh.  "I  am  going  to  cinch  this 
whole  camp  a  little  tighter  from  this  on.  I'm  going  to 
turn  back  every  non-union  miner.  All  you  fellows 
who  are  friendly  can  go  on  working  just  the  same,  but 
your  men  must  put  themselves  on  record." 

Raymond's  face  settled  into  stern  lines.  "Jack,  I 
don't  want  to  be  mixed  up  in  another  man's  fight.  We 
are  on  good  terms  with  our  hands — they're  a  lot  of  can 
tankerous  American  citizens,  anyway,  and  can't  be  co 
erced.  I  warn  you  not  to  monkey  with  our  plant. 
We're  good  friends  now,  but  don't  try  to  round-up 
Kelly  and  our  'wild  bunch,'  or  you'll  meet  trouble." 

Munro  laughed.  "I'll  fight  shy,  old  man,  so  far  as 
I'm  concerned,  but  these  Dagoes  and  Poles  are  getting 

276 


Peabody    Visits    Sky-Town 

watch-eyed,  and  if  they  stampede,  they'll  run  over 
somebody.  All  they  know  is  to  herd,  and  they  con 
sider  themselves  a  sort  of  outpost  of  the  socialistic 
camp,  and  when  they  hear  that  the  Red  Star  gang  are 
going  to  run  in  a  car-load  of  professional  strike-break 
ers,  they're  going  crazy.  You  don't  believe  in  me 
and  my  cow-boys,  but  the  time  may  come  when 
you'll  see  that  I'm  about  the  only  commander  in  this 
camp." 

"  I  see  that  now,  Jack;  that's  why  I'm  talking  to  you. 
But  you've  started  on  a  line  of  action  that  means  war 
with  organized  society.  You  had  no  call  to  join  those 
jackasses  who  ran  Mackay  out  of  camp.  It  was  none 
o'  your  funeral — had  nothing  to  do  with  the  question 
of  wages." 

Munro  grinned.     "He  was  such  an  ape." 

"  Yes,  but  it  started  you  wrong.  Now,  I  don't  know 
who  blew  up  the  shaft-house,  but  if  you  do,  your  best 
plan  is  to  cut  those  outlaws  out  and  turn  them  back  to 
the  authorities." 

"I  don't  know  a  thing.  Of  course  the  union  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  It  was  done  by  a  few  hot-heads 
full  of  peaches.  These  mine-owners  have  got  to  give 
up  their  nine-hour  scheme.  We've  got  'em  dead  to 
rights,  for  I  can  drive  every  non-union  man  out  of 
camp  if  necessary,  and  my  advice  to  you  is,  have  your 
men  march  up  and  sign  our  rolls  double-quick." 

"They  can  do  as  they  please  about  that.  I  will 
bring  no  pressure  to  bear  on  them,  but  I'd  like  to 
ask  you,  as  a  friend,  not  to  make  it  any  harder  than 
you  can  help  for  Kelly  &  Raymond.  We've  got  all 
we  can  stagger  under  now,  and  the  worst  thing  that 
can  happen  to  us  is  delay.  We've  opened  our  vein 

277 


Hesper 

and  we're  going  to  buy  in  our  mine  inside  of  six  weeks 
if  nothing  prevents." 

"I'll  do  what  I  can,  old  man,  but  Kelly  mustn't 
go  to  making  any  more  of  his  cracks  about  the  union. 
They're  getting  ugly  -  tempered  up  there,  and  must 
be  handled  like  glass." 

Raymond  walked  on  to  his  cabin  with  a  heavier 
heart  than  he  had  carried  since  he  left  Barnett's 
home.  Part  of  this  was  due  to  Munro's  warning, 
but  the  larger  part  of  it  sprang  from  his  meeting  with 
Peabody,  who  was  not  at  all  the  sort  of  citizen  he 
had  expected  Ann's  Eastern  lover  to  be.  He  was  a 
man  of  power,  dignity,  and  decision,  not  an  erratic 
idler  like  Barnett,  and  his  air  of  quiet  authority 
sprang  from  a  strong  personality  securely  placed  in 
the  world. 

Louis  came  back  to  the  cabin  with  a  sly  smile  on 
his  face.  "What  did  you  think  of  Mr.  Peabody?" 

Raymond  strove  to  be  jocose.  "He'll  lose  some 
of  his  fat  if  he  climbs  round  these  hills.  What's  he 
here  for,  anyway?" 

Louis  dropped  on  a  bunk  and  his  face  grew  grave. 
"Darn  him,  he's  here  to  get  Ann  to  go  back  to  New 
York.  I  don't  go,  I  tell  you  that!" 

"Maybe  she  won't  go?" 

"I'm  afraid  she  will,"  the  boy  gloomily  replied. 
"He's  got  some  kind  of  a  'drag'  on  her.  He's  been 
trying  to  get  her,  oh,  a  long  time." 

Raymond's  voice  was  calm  as  he  asked,  "What  is 
his  business?" 

"Lawyer.  He's  rich,  too.  Ann  wants  us  both  to 
come  over  to  the  Kellys'  to  dinner.  I  don't  want 
to  go.  Do  you?" 

278 


Peabody    Visits    Sky-Town 

"She's  the  captain,"  answered  Raymond.  "I 
reckon  we'd  better  spruce  up  a  bit." 

"It  makes  me  tired,"  the  boy  went  on.  "I  wanted 
her  to  marry  you  and  then  we  could  all  live  out 
here." 

A  half -hour  later  Ann  knocked.  "Is  any  one  at 
home?" 

Raymond  flung  open  the  door.  "We  are  all  at 
home." 

Ann  introduced  Peabody,  who  stood  by  her  side, 
and  the  two  men  shook  hands  rather  coldly,  while 
she  said  to  Raymond,  "Can  you  take  care  of  Mr.  Pea- 
body  for  the  night?" 

"With  pleasure,"  Raymond  politely  replied. 

"  And  will  you  come  over  to  dinner?  You  need  have 
no  more  scruples  now  that  Woo  is  with  us.  We  are 
ladies  of  leisure,  and,  besides,  I  have  made  a  new  pud 
ding." 

"You  may  expect  us,"  said  Raymond.  "We  let 
none  of  your  puddings  escape." 

"You  have  subtle  ways  of  flattering,"  she  laughing 
ly  responded  as  she  turned  away. 

Peabody  was  not  in  the  least  aware  that  Raymond 
stood  in  any  lover-like  relation  to  Ann,  and  his  man 
ner  was  direct  and  hearty.  He  was,  indeed,  full  of 
talk. 

"This  is  the  most  extraordinary  development,  this 
town  on  a  mountain.  What  did  that  fellow  mean 
by  trying  to  turn  me  back?" 

"I  suppose  he  took  you  for  a  spy." 

"A  spy!  What  do  you  think  of  that,  Louis?  If 
he  had  known  my  office  was  in  Wall  Street,  I  assume 
that  my  troubles  would  have  thickened.  I  don't  un- 

279 


Hesper 

derstand  why  you  gold-miners  should  be  silver  men. 
Yes,  thank  you,  I  would  like  to  wash." 

Raymond  put  his  toilet  articles  at  the  Eastern 
man's  disposal.  "It's  a  rough  outfit." 

"Don't  apologize.  A  man  in  a  camp,  twelve  thou 
sand  feet  in  the  air,  can't  afford  to  pick  and  choose." 

At  the  dinner-table  Ann  studied  the  two  men  with 
highly  amused  interest.  Peabody,  easy,  assured,  and 
calmly  tolerant,  did  the  talking,  while  Raymond  lis 
tened,  a  little  sullenly,  it  seemed  to  Ann.  The  New- 
Yorker  was  most  admirable  in  his  consideration  for 
Mrs.  Kelly  and  his  interest  in  everything  about  him, 
and  yet  he  did  not  stir  the  one  he  hoped  to  please. 
He  had  always  been  commonplace  to  her,  and  was 
conspicuously  so  here  on  the  mountain-top. 

Kelly  towered  at  the  head  of  the  table,  clad  in  a 
dark-brown  corduroy  house-coat  and  blue  flannel  shirt, 
his  grizzled  head  uplifted,  a  roguish  shine  in  his  half- 
hid,  piercing  eyes.  Raymond  ate  in  silence,  replying 
only  when  directly  interrogated.  Louis,  watchful  for 
criticism  against  his  beloved  mountains,  really  found 
no  cause  for  warfare,  and  Ann,  possessed  of  a  per 
verse  desire  to  disclose  some  hidden  trait  in  Peabody, 
touched  on  the  prejudices  of  each  man. 

"Mr.  Peabody  comes  direct  from  the  money-chang 
ers,  Matthew,"  she  said  to  Kelly,  "and  can  give  you 
the  latest  news  of  the  gold  conspiracy." 

"Can  he?  Well,  I  should  like  to  have  him  tell  me 
what  he  thought  of  that  Englishman  who  took  a  walk 
through  Wall  Street  a  day  or  two  ago  and  said,  '  The 
faces  I  see  here  are  criminal.'  Are  they  so?" 

Peabody  hastened  to  be  large  and  tolerant.  "To 
me  the  faces  are  worn  and  anxious,  not  criminal. 

280 


Peabody    Visits    Sky-Town 

The  crush  there  is  tremendous,  and  men  are  pale  and 
haggard.  I  am  an  exception,"  he  added,  beamingly. 
"But  I  suppose  the  men  who  gather  there  are  of  the 
accipitral  type,  especially  the  'hangers  on,'  the  curb 
stone  speculators.  But,  after  all,  it's  the  place  where 
things  are  done — it  is  the  heart,  the  financial  heart,  of 
the  nation." 

Kelly's  eyes  lost  their  twinkle.  "  I  grant  you  things 
are  done  there,  and  great  things;  but  are  they  for  the 
good  of  the  people,  or  are  they  just  piracy?  Tis  easy 
to  rob  a  man  at  a  distance.  If  I  can  sit  here  and 
steal  the  wages  of  a  hundred  men  in  San  Francisco, 
my  sleep  is  untroubled;  'tis  too  impersonal,  that  Wall 
Street  robbery,  there's  no  chance  for  pity  or  remorse. 
'Tis  like  our  friends  who  sit  below  in  the  valley  and 
try  to  regulate  the  hours  of  labor  here  on  the  peak." 

Peabody  was  glad  to  turn  the  conversation  into  this 
channel.  "I  found  them  very  much  excited  down  in 
the  valley.  Indeed,  I  was  warned  not  to  attempt  to 
come  here;  but  I  argued  that  if  Ann  could  live  here 
safely — " 

"Ah,  but  she's  wan  of  us,"  said  Kelly. 

Ann  bowed.  "I'm  one  of  the  toilers.  Assistant 
cook  and  second  girl." 

"We've  adopted  her,"  pursued  Kelly.  "And  Rob 
there  is  her  defender  in  time  of  trouble." 

Peabody  turned  to  Raymond  with  undisturbed  mind, 
"That  is  very  good  of  you.  The  Barnetts  told  me  of 
your  kindness  to  Louis." 

In  all  that  followed  he  maintained  this  same  large 
view,  and  Kelly  grew  to  a  manifest  liking  for  the 
man. 

Peabody  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  his  intimate  re- 
281 


Hesper 

lationship  with  Ann  and  every  tone  of  his  voice  when 
addressing  her  was  torture  to  Raymond,  who  began 
to  talk  at  last  in  self-defence,  addressing  himself  to 
Mrs.  Kelly  as  his  hostess,  leaving  Ann  free  to  listen 
unreservedly  to  her  Eastern  suitor.  The  girl  under 
stood  this  mood  in  Rob,  and  it  touched  her. 

As  they  all  re-entered  the  bungalow,  Peabody  rub 
bed  his  hands  together  in  delight.  "By  Jove!  this  is 
something  like !  This  chimney  carries  me  back  to  my 
hunting  -  lodge  in  the  Maine  woods.  Do  you  hunt. 
Raymond?"  he  asked,  and  the  use  of  Raymond's  name 
in  that  way  indicated  his  liking. 

"I  used  to.  That  bear-skin  Miss  Rupert  is  sitting 
upon  is  one  of  my  trophies." 

"Is  it  really!  He's  superb;  where  did  you  get 
him?" 

"In  the  Needle  Range." 

Peabody  was  in  the  midst  of  a  story  when  a  knock 
at  the  door  announced  a  visitor. 

"Come  in!"  shouted  Raymond,  and  Munro  entered, 
entirely  at  his  ease,  graceful,  jocose,  making  no  ac 
count  of  the  looks  of  surprise  on  the  faces  of  Ray 
mond  and  his  guests. 

"Remain  where  you  are!"  he  called.  "The  house 
is  entirely  surrounded,  and  no  non-union  laborer  will 
be  allowed  to  escape." 

Raymond  mechanically  gave  him  a  chair,  while 
Kelly  nodded  curtly.  Ann  bowed  and  said,  "Good- 
evening,  Captain  Munro." 

Peabody  alone  smiled.  "Ah,  you  were  my  guide 
up  the  hill!  My  guard  as  well  as  guide  I  take  it." 

"I'd  rather  have  been  your  executioner." 

"For  what  reason?" 

282 


Peabody    Visits    Sky-Town 

"Had  I  known  you  were  coming  to  get  the  queen 
of  the  peak  your  blood  had  stained  the  heather." 

"Good  Heavens,  what  an  escape!  Am  I  quite  safe 
now?"  he  asked  of  Kelly. 

This  fooling  over,  they  took  seats,  and  the  conversa 
tion  ran  to  the  prospects  of  the  camp,  and  Peabody, 
with  a  feeling  that  Kelly  was  the  man  of  richest  ex 
perience,  persuaded  him  to  tell  something  of  his  won 
derful  career  as  a  trailer  of  golden  pathways,  while 
Louis  lay  at  his  feet  in  the  blaze  of  the  fire  and  lis 
tened  as  all  the  others  listened.  Peabody,  looking 
round  the  room,  was  moved  to  repeat,  most  fervently: 
"Now,  this  is  jolly — incredibly  jolly.  Will  you  be 
lieve  it,  they  told  me  you  were  all  murdering  thieves 
up  here  in  the  clouds.  I  was  especially  warned  against 
Munro's  pickets.  At  this  moment  even  they  have 
no  terror  to  me." 

"There  are  others,"  said  Munro,  with  a  sly  inflec 
tion,  "who  would  charge  a  picket -line  to  see  Miss 
Rupert's  face  lit  by  this  fire." 

Raymond  sat  in  silence,  scorning  to  take  part  in  this 
flattery,  while  Ann  awoke  to  a  delicious  excitement 
in  the  situation.  Before  her  sat  three  very  direct 
and  forceful  lovers  regarding  each  other  like  tigers, 
instinct  with  hate,  yet  masking  it,  pretending  to 
honor  and  good-will,  while  bitter  jealousy  raged  be 
neath.  She  palpitated  with  unwonted,  wicked  joy, 
and  never  had  she  seemed  more  alluring  to  her  lovers 
than  at  that  moment.  She  provoked  Munro  to  the 
most  audacious  sayings  merely  to  see  Peabody  stare, 
and  she  flung  an  appealing  word  at  Raymond  now 
and  again  as  if  valuing  his  opinion  above  all  others, 
though  he  made  but  curt  answers,  returning  to  his  fire, 

283 


Hesper 

mystified  by  her  gayety  and  by  her  subtlety  of  by 
play.  Munro,  so  far  from  being  depressed  by  Pea- 
body's  presence,  was  carried  quite  beyond  his  usual 
self,  and  his  reckless  compliments  had  a  keen  edge. 
In  the  end,  Ann  regretted  her  encouragement  of  his 
audacity. 

Raymond  realized  that  he  was  playing  a  poor  part  in 
this  game, but,  try  as  he  might,  he  could  not  bend  his 
tongue  to  any  word  worth  saying.  He  was  consider 
ing  Ann's  action,  trying  to  fathom  her  intent.  Her 
laughter  and  her  shining  eyes  revealed  to  him  an  emo 
tional  exaltation  of  which  he  feared  to  know  the  cause. 
No  one  else  had  ever  been  able  to  make  her  eyes  sparkle 
and  her  cheeks  glow  like  this.  He  tried  to  be  just  to 
Peabody.  "He  is  suited  to  her.  He  comes  from  the 
same  walk  of  life,  and  is  a  mighty  fine  chap,  physically 
and  mentally."  And  the  realization  of  his  madness 
in  the  mist  sent  a  burning  flush  of  shame  into  his 
face. 

Ann  divined  something  of  what  was  passing  in  his 
mind,  but  she  did  not  realize  how  deep  his  depression 
was,  for  his  face  seemed  stern  rather  than  sad,  and  the 
light  concealed  the  tell-tale  stain  on  his  brow. 

His  position  as  host  enabled  him  to  come  off  fairly 
well  in  his  struggle,  for  when  some  intimate  glance  or 
word  passed  between  Ann  and  Peabody  and  troubled 
him  too  sharply,  he  was  able  to  rise  and  poke  the  fire 
or  pass  into  the  next  room.  His  desire  to  be  alone 
became  at  last  insupportable. 

His  guests  rose  at  last,  and  Ann  and  Peabody  went 
away  together.  This  cut  deeper  than  all  else,  and 
Louis,  who  took  a  very  pessimistic  view  of  the  whole 
affair,  did  not  comfort  him.  "  She'll  go  back  with  him. 

284 


Peabody    Visits    Sky-Town 

I  can  see  that,"  he  said.  "And  she'll  want  me  to  go, 
too,  but  I  won't." 

"He'll  not  get  away  with  her  if  a  nine-inch  gun  is 
any  bar,"  remarked  Munro,  in  more  than  half  serious 
ness.  "  Still,  it's  a  fair  test,"  he  added.  "  She  has  had 
a  chance  to  size  us  up,  and  if  she  can  cotton  to  a  pink- 
and-white  slob  like  that,  after  seeing  a  couple  of  'good 
ones'  like  Rob  and  myself — why,  it's  her  own  bet  and 
her  own  coin.  I'm  still  in  the  ring,  however,  as  long  as 
I  can  hear  her  voice." 

Raymond  could  not  jest,  but  he  could  be  fair-minded. 
"Why  should  she  consider  any  man  on  the  hill,  or  in 
the  West,  for  that  matter?  See  what  this  lawyer  of 
fers — a  good  home  in  the  big  city,  her  native  town. 
Right  here  the  West  takes  a  second  defeat  from  Wall 
Street." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  You  never  did  understand 
women.  She  may  be  just  iooling  with  him  to  let  us 
know  she's  nobody's  slave.  How  long  has  she  known 
this  lump  of  Herkimer  County  butter?"  he  asked  of 
Louis. 

Raymond  stopped  him.  "There's  a  point  where 
joking  is  barred,  Jack.  It's  none  of  our  business  when 
or  where  or  how  she  met  him.  We've  got  all  the  in 
formation  we're  entitled  to  right  now." 

Munro  went  away  outwardly  jocular  but  inwardly 
sadder  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life,  for  his  love  for 
Ann  was  mingled  with  respect  for  her  mind,  her  char 
acter.  Her  calm  and  kindly  attitude  towards  him  that 
night  had  been  a  revelation  to  him.  The  women  he 
had  known  would  have  been  peppery,  awkwardly  si 
lent,  or  nervously  excited.  She  seemed  amused,  and 
her  clear,  searching  eyes  had  abashed  him.  Her  large 

285 


Hesper 

tolerance  of  him,  her  easy  forgetfulness  of  what  he  had 
-cried  to  be  to  her,  depressed  him  and  in  the  end  wound 
ed  his  self-conceit. 

"Jack  Munro,"  he  said  to  himself,  in  a  voice  of  bitter 
scorn,  "do  you  know  what  you  are?  You're  a  yaller 
dog  in  August." 

Peabody,  on  his  return,  found  Raymond  sitting  alone 
by  his  fire.  Louis  was  deep  in  slumber. 

' '  That  man  Munro  is  an  interesting  fellow.  What  do 
you  know  about  him?"  asked  the  lawyer. 

"  Not  very  much.  He's  rather  secretive.  He  came 
here  from  Sylvanite,  I  believe." 

"  His  jokes  about  getting  under  my  ribs  were  a  little 
grewsome.  He  struck  me  as  just  about  mediaeval 
enough  to  do  it — under  proper  conditions.  Tell  me 
about  yourself.  Ann  has  only  praise  for  you.  I  want 
to  thank  you  most  cordially  for  your  kindness  to  her 
and  to  the  boy." 

"I'm  not  sure  my  influence  has  been  a  blessing  to 
her  or  to  the  boy.  Louis  struck  up  a  great  friendship 
for  me  and  followed  me  here,  and  that  forced  Miss 
Rupert  to  come.  It  is  no  place  for  a  woman  of  her  re 
finement,  and  I've  felt  all  along  a  kind  of  indirect  re 
sponsibility  for  her  presence  here.  The  boy  ought  to 
get  out,  too,  for  we  are  on  the  edge  of  war  up  here." 
"You  Western  fellows  are  mediaeval"  (this  seemed 
to  be  one  of  his  pet  words) ;  "that's  the  reason  you  ap 
peal  to  this  boy.  He's  in  the  doublet-and-dagger  stage 
of  development.  It  seems  a  pity  to  take  him  away  so 
long  as  he  is  so  vigorous.  He's  much  improved.  Less 
nervous  and  more  manly." 

"I  doubt  if  he  can  be  persuaded  to  leave, 
me  to-night  that  he  wouldn't  go." 

286 


Peabody    Visits    Sky-Town 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  I  met  you,  Mr.  Raymond.  I  shall  feel 
easier  about  the  boy  in  case  we  do  go  East  without  him." 

These  cordial,  frank,  and  manly  words  struck  an  icy 
chill  to  Raymond's  heart.  It  was  all  over  then.  She 
had  consented  to  go,  and  his  life  was  laid  waste.  He 
rose  unsteadily. 

"  You  must  be  tired.  Shall  I  show  you  your  bunk?" 
he  asked. 

"  I  believe  I  will  turn  in,"  responded  Peabody. 

When  the  young  miner  returned  to  his  seat  beside 
the  fire  a  big  lump  of  pain  filled  his  throat,  and  he 
owned  a  boyish  desire  to  fling  himself  down  on  the 
floor  and  sob.  He  lost  all  shame  of  his  weakness  at 
length,  and  went  out  into  the  night — to  be  alone  with 
the  deepest  grief  of  his  life. 

The  darkness  outside  enabled  him  to  close  his  eyes 
to  outward  things  and  fasten  them  upon  interior  scenes 
of  haunting  light  and  beauty  wherein  this  queenly  girl 
was  the  radiant  centre.  He  deliberately  called  them 
before  him — the  picture  she  made  on  that  first  day  at 
the  ranch  when,  with  heavenly  pity  in  her  face,  she 
bent  above  him  as  he  lay  wounded.  He  dwelt  long 
upon  her  as  she  appeared  in  evening-dress,  her  con 
ventional  guise,  haughty,  impenetrable,  self  -  poised. 
Sweeter  remembrances  followed — remembrances  of  her 
girlish  gayety  in  those  intimate  hours  when  they  rode 
together  or  worked  about  the  bungalow  together,  and 
these  were  the  most  deeply  moving  of  all,  and  when 
he  realized  that  they  were  gone,  never  to  return  again, 
he  groaned  like  one  in  physical  torture. 

"Oh,  my  God!  I  wish  I  had  never  seen  her!"  And 
with  that  involuntary  cry  his  tears  came  and  he  wept 
unashamed. 

287 


Hesper 

When  he  returned  to  his  cabin  the  fight  was  ended. 
He  was  outwardly  calm.  He  went  to  his  bed  resolute 
to  conceal  his  hurt.  Longing  for  morning,  that  he 
might  fling  himself  into  the  toil  of  the  mine  and  so  for 
get  the  clutching  hand  at  his  throat. 


XX 

Ann    Sends    Peabody    Away 

HE  did  not  see  Ann  at  breakfast  next  morning,  but 
sent  word  by  Louis  that  important  work  in  the 
mine  detained  him,  and  the  girl  was  hurt  by  the  neglect. 
It  was  not  a  cheerful  going  at  best,  for  Mrs.  Kelly  was 
broken-hearted  and  frankly  pessimistic. 

"  You'll  never  come  back,"  she  said.  "You'll  forget 
the  Kellys — you'll  forget  you  ever  lived  in  a  log-hut 
and  swept  floors." 

"Why,  Nora,  I'm  only  going  to  Valley  Springs. 
Maybe  I'll  come  back,  and  soon." 

"You  say  so,  but  you  are  going  far.  I  have  two 
eyes  and  I  can  see.  You've  broken  Rob's  heart,  too. 
I  know  why  he  isn't  here  this  morning — he  couldn't 
abear  to  see  you  go,  and  no  more  can  I." 

Ann's  own  heart  received  a  wrench  at  these  final 
words.  "  I  haven't  meant  to  give  you  pain.  I've  tried 
to  help  you." 

"You're  too  beautiful,  darling.  You  shouldn't  go 
among  poor  people  like  us.  Our  love  grows  round  you, 
and  when  you  go  you  tear  our  tendrils  off  and  it  hurts." 

The  tears  came  to  Ann's  eyes.     Never  had  such  sin 
cerity,  such  directness  of  affection  touched  her.     "I'll 
come  back.     I  promise  you  I'll  come  back,  unless  you 
come  to  the  Springs  to  live." 
19  289 


Hesper 

"Come  back!"  shouted  Kelly,  who  had  entered  the 
door.  "Why,  sure  thing!  She  can't  keep  away. 
D'ye  think  Louis  is  going  to  leave  the  peak?  Not  for 
long.  He  has  just  been  telling  me  when  to  expect  him." 
Somehow,  Kelly's  tone  helped  Ann  as  well  as  Nora. 

"I  am  not  going  bacK  to  New  York  till  spring." 

"Let  me  tell  you  something,"  Kelly  resumed,  with 
ponderous  effort  at  being  confidential.  "Your  Wall 
Street  lawyer  is  all  right.  He's  a  man  of  substance, 
but  Rob  is  going  to  sluice  a  stream  of  gold  out  o'  this  hill 
that  '11  make  the  lawyer  chap  look  like  a  worn  dime — 
now  mind  what  I  say." 

Ann  laughed.  "I'll  remember;  and  now,  you  dear 
people,  good-bye,"  and  she  looked  back  at  the  cabin 
with  dim  eyes. 

They  reached  the  Springs  without  accident  and  were 
greeted  as  if  they  had  escaped  from  a  robber's  cave. 
Mrs.  Barnett  and  her  friends  were  all  greatly  excited 
over  the  events  of  the  high  country,  which  had  been 
distorted,  magnified  by  the  shadows  of  the  clouds,  till 
they  were  of  the  most  monstrous  proportions.  Munro 
was  already  a  bogie — a  sort  of  cow-boy  Napoleon — 
and  Ann  laughed  at  the  questions  hurled  at  her  head 
by  the  Barnetts  when  they  found  she  had  known  and 
liked  the  captain  of  the  patrol. 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  replied.  "  I  found  him  very  amus 
ing.  No,  he  was  not  drunk,  and  I  never  saw  any  weap 
ons  upon  him.  Mr.  Raymond  considers  him  a  dan 
gerous  force  because  of  his  zeal  to  serve  the  miners.  I 
haven't  any  very  clear  idea  of  the  situation,  and,  as  I 
never  went  up  to  Saloon  Row,  as  Matt  calls  the  village, 
I  saw  very  little  of  the  disorder.  I  did  see  Matt  when 
he  rode  at  the  sheriff's  side  to  quell  the  mob,  and  he 

290 


Ann    Sends   Peabody    Away 

was  magnificent.  Yes,  it  is  true  that  Mr.  Raymond  is 
the  leader  of  the  free  miners  and  that  he  and  Mr. 
Munro  are  friends.  Yes,  Kelly  and  Raymond  have 
made  a  strike,  but  they  are  unable  to  get  the  men 
they  need  to  work  their  mine." 

It  seemed  good  to  get  back  to  wardrobes  and  a  bath 
room  and  to  the  deft  ministry  of  servants,  and  when 
Ann  looked  out  of  her  window  that  night  and  watched 
a  portentous  gray  cloud  closing  round  Mogalyon  she 
breathed  a  deep  sigh  of  relief  and  pleasure.  This 
world  of  competence  and  all  comforts,  these  rooms 
with  their  dainty  furnishings,  seemed  as  far  from  the 
life  she  had  led  at  the  Kelly s'  as  the  earth  from  the 
moon.  It  was  incredible  that  she  had  liked  it  and 
impossible  that  she  should  ever  return  to  it. 

Barnett  came  home  looking  hard  and  worn,  quite 
unlike  his  jovial  self,  but  he  greeted  Ann  warmly.  "  I 
am  glad  to  see  you  here.  I  want  to  know  all  about 
things  up  there.  .  Where  is  Peabody?" 

Mrs.  Earnett  replied:  "Dressing for  dinner.  Hurry, 
Don,  you're  late." 

After  he  left  them  Ann  remarked  to  Mrs.  Barnett, 
"He  looks  worried." 

"  He  is  worried  to  death.  He  insists  on  trying  to  be 
the  head  and  front  of  this  citizen's  committee  of  safety. 
He's  chairman  of  it  and  is  away  all  hours  of  the  day 
and  night.  Do  you  know  the  whole  city  is  patrolled?" 

"Patrolled!     What  for?" 

' '  So  that  the  miners  cannot  come  rushing  down  here 
some  night  and  burn  us  all  up." 

This  amused  Ann.  "How  silly!  Why  should  they 
do  that?" 

"Because  we  mine -owners  live  here.  It  is  not  a 
291 


Hesper 

laughing  matter  to  us.  Word  has  come  to  us  through 
reliable  sources  that  your  nice  friend  Munro  has  planned 
a  raid,  and  every  young  man  in  the  town  has  been  en 
rolled  in  the  'home  guard.'  The  women  are  so  ner 
vous  they  daren't  be  seen  outside  their  yards  after 
dusk.  Everything  has  stopped.  No  one  is  giving  any 
entertainments.  The  theatres  are  empty.  You  never 
saw  such  a  condition.  It's  dreadful!" 

"It  would  be  dreadful  if  it  were  true,  but  I've  been 
living  up  there  in  the  midst  of  things,  and  I've  never 
heard  a  word  of  this  raid.  I  haven't  once  been  scared, 
though  it  was  exciting  the  day  I  went  shopping." 

"Yes,  but  you  were  protected  by  the  chief  devil  of 
all — this  man  Munro.  He's  probably  in  love  with  you. 
Don  said  he  was." 

Ann  laughed  outright  at  this.  "Jeannette,  you 
people  have  been  eating  too  much  lobster-salad  and 
ice-cream;  you're  all  suffering  from  nightmare.  There 
isn't  a  word  of  truth  in  what  you've  been  saying." 

When  Don  came  down  she  continued  to  mock,  and 
all  through  dinner  she  perversely  defended  Munro,  and 
listened  to  Barnett's  boastings  of  what  they  were  go 
ing  to  do  to  open  their  mines,  with  entire  lack  of  sym 
pathy. 

"I  don't  pretend  to  comprehend  what  you  men  call 
business,"  she  said1,  "but  it  seems  to  me  that  rather 
than  waste  millions  on  a  useless  war  I  would  allow  the 
miners  a  few  more  cents  pay,  just  as  a  matter  of  econo 
my." 

"But  it's  the  principle  of  the  thing.  We  don't  in 
tend  to  be  dictated  to  by  these  'red-neckers.'  They 
must  come  to  our  terms." 

"My  grandmother  would  say  that's  like  biting  off 
292 


Ann    Sends    Peabody    Away 

your  nose  to  spite  your  face.  Mr.  Raymond  is  working 
right  along." 

"I've  been  deceived  in  him,"  Barnett  burst  out,  in 
terrupting  her.  "He  and  Kelly  are  playing  a  two- 
faced  game  with  us." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  they  are  not!"  she  hotly  an 
swered.  "They  are  doing  just  what  you  ought  to  do. 
They're  paying  their  men  good  wages  and  treating  them 
properly." 

"When  did  you  become  a  labor  advocate?"  he 
sneered. 

"Don!  Don!"  warned  his  wife.  "Don't  mind  him, 
Ann.  Since  this  trouble  came  on  he's  lost  his  head. 
I'm  afraid  to  have  him  come  home,  he's  so  irritable. 
He's  perfectly  savage." 

Peabody  put  in  a  word.  "  If  I  might  venture,  I  don't 
know  a  thing  about  it,  except  what  Munro  and  Ray 
mond  told  me,  but  it  seems  to  me  Ann  is  right.  As  I 
understand  it,  these  chaps  are  contending  that  in  mak 
ing  this  change  from  three  shifts  of  eight  hours  each, 
you  shouldn't  lay  off  a  lot  of  men,  and  put  the  rest  on 
two  shifts  of  nine  hours  each  at  eight-hours'  pay.  Isn't 
that  it?" 

"Well,  yes;  but,  you  see,  it's  really  a  new  system 
altogether." 

"  But  in  the  change  you  don't  intend  to  accidentally 
pay  thirty  cents  or  fifty  cents  or  whatever  it  may  be,  for 
that  extra  hour?" 

"  The  pay  for  a  day's  work  will  remain  as  it  is  now." 

Peabody  smiled.  "A  mere  shuffle.  Come,  be 
frank.  You  fellows  have  fixed  up  a  new  deal  in  which 
the  cards  go  against  the  miners.  They  protest,  and 
now  it  is  a  matter  of  'gun-play,'  as  you  say  out  here.'' 

293 


Hesper 

Barnett  broke  into  a  grin,  but  he  was  irritated. 
"Have  you  taken  out  a  brief  for  the  miners?" 

"Not  at  all.  As  the  world  goes  now,  wages  are  a 
result  of  bluff.  You  try  to  hire  labor  as  cheaply  as 
possible,  and  labor  tries  to  sell  its  brawn  as  dearly  as 
possible.  It's  a  very  pretty  fight,  and  I'm  an  on-looker. 
Whether  your  bull  gores  the  miners'  ox  or  no  is  none 
of  my  affair,  but  it  amuses  me  to  see  a  faddist  and  a 
sport  like  Don  Barnett  involved  in  a  far-reaching 
question  of  labor  and  capital." 

Mrs.  Barnett  looked  relieved.  "I  wish  you'd  talk 
him  out  of  it,  Wayne." 

Peabody,  with  a  lawyer's  pleasure,  went  on  with  his 
analysis.  "But  there's  a  third  party  here  which  is  of 
more  interest  to  me  than  either  you  or  the  unionists, 
and  that  is  Raymond's  party  of  the  third  part.  They 
are  upholding  the  old  traditions — that  a  man  with  an 
open  door  behind  him  cannot  be  coerced.  These  small 
operators  who  refuse  to  come  into  your  combination 
are  largely  made  up  of  the  old-time  miners  and  pros 
pectors,  so  Kelly  tells  me.  They  are  standing  clear  for 
the  present,  but  if  you  crowd  them  to  the  wall,  they'll 
take  hold,  and  then,  as  Kelly  said,  'you'll  have  a  wild 
cat  by  the  tail.'  I  wish  I  could  wait  and  see  how  you 
come  out,  but  I've  got  a  big  case  on  for  the  i6th  and 
must  be  in  Washington." 

"The  whole  thing  will  be  settled  in  a  day  or  two," 
declared  Barnett.  "When  we  go  up  there  again,  it 
will  be  with  a  thousand  men  and  fully  armed." 

"That  is  a  harsh  arbitrament,"  said  Peabody,  with  a 
gravity  which  was  almost  solemnity.  "  I  would  advise 
you  to  settle  this  case  out  of  court." 

Ann  interposed.  "I  think  you  both  take  too  seri- 
294 


Ann    Sends    Peabody    Away 

cms  a  view  of  the  whole  thing.  ,  Mr.  Raymond  laughs 

over  it." 

"Mr.  Raymond  was  probably  trying  to  keep  you 
unalarmed,"  answered  Peabody.  "  And  now  that  you 
are  out  of  it,  I  do  not  think  it  well  for  either  you  or 
Louis  to  return  to  it." 

Louis  uttered  indignant  outcry.  "Oh,^see  here! 
I've  got  to  go  back,  I'm  helping  Raymond." 

"I  guess  he'll  have  to  stagger  along  without  you, 
Louis,"  replied  Barnett.  "You  better  not  go  into 
this  mix-up  again." 

"I'll  go  back  whenever  I  please." 
Ann  laid  a  warning  hand  on  his  arm  and  hushed 
his  boyish  threat. 

The  dinner  was  finished  with  a  pleasanter  topic, 
and  when  the  men  were  alone  with  their  cigars  Pea- 
body  carelessly  remarked:  "I'm  going  to  take  Ann 
back  with  me,  if  she'll  go.  I  don't  like  the  idea  of 
this  youngster  dragging  her  into  all  this  filthy  tur 
moil.  Why,  I  found  her  living  in  a  log  cabin  with 
an  Irish  family— nice  people,  but  no  place  for  her." 

"That's  the  singular  part  of  it,  she  seems  to  enjoy 
it.  She  wrote  Jeannette  from  up  there  pretty  reg 
ularly,  and  she  out  and  out  said  she  liked  it.  And 
she  is  gay  as  a  bird— she's  lost  some  of  her  fat— I 
never  saw  her  looking  fitter." 

Peabody  mused.  "She  is  changed.  I  can't  quite 
make  out  why  or  how.  She  was  like  a  school -girl 
for  spirits  last  night.  Do  you  suppose  it's  the  high 
altitude?" 

"Either   that    or   some  man.     I'm   told  that    this 
fellow  Munro  is  a  dashing  kind  of  desperado." 
"See  here,  Don,  don't  joke  along  those  lines." 
295 


Hesper 

"My  dear  fellow,  I'm  not  joking.  Munro  is  just 
the  kind  of  sport  to  appeal  to  a  girl's  romantic  vein. 
He's  handsome  and  audacious.  I'm  told  he's  at  the 
Kelly s'  every  day — " 

Peabody  became  grave.  "Yes,  she  told  me  that 
herself." 

"Confound  it,  man,  don't  you  know  these  things 
don't  go  by  way  of  fitness?  Something  has  happened 
to  that  girl.  I  hoped  that  Raymond  would  interest 
her,  but  it  wasn't  to  be.  She  turned  him  down.  Ann's 
a  mighty  curious  girl  and  you  don't  want  to  get  too 
confident.  Now  by  all  the  laws  of  fitness  and  proprie 
ty  she  ought  to  go  back  with  you,  and  I  hope  she  will; 
but  you  don't  want  to  guess  at  anything.  Women 
don't  like  these  self-contained  lovers;  they  want  fire 
and  dash  and  mystery,  and  that's  what  she's  been  get 
ting  from  this  man  Munro." 

Peabody  blew  a  whiff  from  his  cigar;  he  spoke  calm 
ly,  but  his  eyes  were  half  closed  in  troubled  thought. 

"That's  plain  talk,  Don." 

"You  gave  me  a  full  ration  a  moment  ago,  and  now 
you  listen  to  me.  What  are  the  facts?  This  girl 
came  out  here  as  white  and  cold  as  a  statue.  She 
was  indifferent,  or  contemptuous  of  everything,  ex 
cept  the  kidlet,  whom  she  idolized.  Well,  now  you 
see  the  change.  She's  as  full  of  color  and  'gimp'  as 
a  girl  of  sixteen,  her  lips  are  red  and  her  eyes  bright- 
I'd  like  to  think  all  this  is  due  to  the  altitude  and 
change  of  scene.  But,  my  dear  chap,  I  suspect  it  is  a 
man,  and  I  fear  it  is  Munro." 

"I  hope  not,  for  her  sake." 

"I  do,  too,  and  for  your  sake;  but  I've  seen  too 
many  women  go  to  pieces  in  that  way  to  feel  any  as- 

296 


Ann    Sends    Peabody    Away 

surance.  It  wouldn't  have  been  so  bad  if  she'd  taken 
up  with  Raymond,  for  he  is  a  fine  fellow  aside  from 
his  present  stand;  but  there  again,  he  was  too  re 
spectful,  too  near  her  own  type;  it  needed  a  wild  devil 
like  this  cow-boy  captain  to  stir  her  imagination.  Did 
you  notice  how  she  defended  him  to-night?" 

Peabody's  cigar  was  broken  between  his  fingers. 
''Don,  you  scare  me!  Merciful  powers,  man,  I  can't 
think  of  leaving  her  out  here!  She  can't  marry  such 
a  desperado.  It  would  be  horrible — horrible!" 

Barnett  having  fairly  crushed  his  friend,  now  tried 
to  comfort  him.  "All  this  may  be  a  wrong  diagnosis, 
and  I  hope  it  is;  but  if  I  were  you  I  would  go  to  her 
and  use  words  that  would  startle  her.  She  needs  the 
strong  hand." 

Peabody  rose,  all  the  quizzical  lines  of  his  face  lost 
in  a  plexus  of  doubt  and  hesitation. 

Don  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder.  "Cheer  up, 
old  man!  Don't  take  my  vaporings  for  gospel  truth. 
This  is  my  pessimistic  night,"  and  together  they 
joined  the  women. 

Ann  wondered  at  the  change  in  Peabody,  but  had 
no  chance  to  speak  to  him  for  some  minutes,  for  a 
couple  of  young  men  were  detailing  their  stern  plans 
for  invading  Sky -Town. 

"But  you  mustn't  tell  me  these  things,"  she  pro 
tested.  "I  am  a  sympathizer.  I  might  convey  your 
plans  to  the  enemy." 

This  seemed  very  amusing  to  the  young  men,  and 
one  of  them,  Mr.  Dan  Morton,  went  on  with  his  tale. 

"You  see,  all  the  fellows  have  gone  into  this  home 
guard  or  'the  dude  company,'  as  the  sheriff  calls  us. 
There  are  a  hundred  of  us  who  are  ready  to  march  as 

297 


Hesper 

soon  as  we  have  provisions  and  arms.  We  drill  every 
night.  Oh,  it's  great  fun!" 

Ann  looked  at  the  two  young  fellows  and  thought 
of  Munro  and  his  men.  "Poor  little  lambs,"  she 
said,  pityingly. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"It's  cold  up  there,"  she  went  on,  "and  those 
vedettes  are  very  inconsiderate.  It  would  not  sur 
prise  me  if  they  were  to  shoot  at  you  just  a  little  while 
before  you  shot  at  them." 

"You're  making  game  of  us." 

"You  deserve  it.  Why  do  you  go  up  there?  As 
Mr.  Munro  says,  it's  none  of  your  funeral,  at  least 
not  now." 

"We  have  to  go.  All  the  chaps  are  going.  Those 
fellows  must  be  taught  their  place." 

They  were  so  deeply  stirred  by  their  call  to  duty 
that  her  ridicule  only  rendered  them  stupid,  and  she 
turned  away  to  Peabody.  The  library  was  soon 
filled  with  people  who  had  heard  of  Ann's  return  from 
the  peak,  and  the  girl  was  profoundly  amused  to  find 
herself  taken  for  a  fount  of  wisdom  concerning  the 
miners'  war  and  their  demands.  The  feeling  against 
the  camp  was  savage,  and  the  men  were  loud  in  denun 
ciation  of  the  Governor  of  the  State,  who  had  refused 
to  order  out  the  militia.  "He  is  as  bad  as  Munro, 
an  absolute  anarchist,"  declared  one  man,  whose  stri 
dent  voice  dominated  all  the  others. 

Peabody  studied  Ann  with  keen  and  asking  eyes. 
Her  vivid  color,  her  alertness,  her  instant  humor  were 
a  revelation  of  beauty  to  him.  She  seemed  five  years 
younger.  Youth  was  in  the  flush  of  her  cheek,  in 
the  sparkle  of  her  eyes,  and  in  the  firm  muscles  of 

298 


Ann    Sends    Peabody    Away 

her  arm.  She  was  radiant  with  the  wine  of  health 
and  happiness — a  girl  transformed.  "In  this  I  have 
had  no  share,"  he  thought,  and  the  conviction  troubled 
him. 

One  by  one  the  guests  dropped  away,  and  at  last 
only  the  Barnetts  and  Ann  and  Peabody  were  left 
in  the  library. 

"How  absurd  all  this  talk  of  warfare  seems!"  said 
Ann.  "You  men  are  strange  animals,  you  fight  for 
a  fiction  like  demons.  I  never  realized  it  before, 
but  you  are  uncomfortable  creatures  to  have  around 
when  your  prejudices  are  aroused." 

At  a  signal  from  Mrs.  Barnett  Don  sauntered  out 
of  the  room  as  if  on  some  errand,  and  forgot  to  return. 
A  few  moments  later  she,  too,  begged  to  be  excused 
"for  a  moment,"  and  was  seen  no  more. 

Both  Ann  and  Peabody  understood  these  actions, 
but  as  he  was  intent  on  making  an  appeal  to  her,  and 
she  knew  there  was  no  escape  from  it,  they  faced 
each  other  with  a  tensity  of  emotion  which  seemed 
impossible  a  moment  before. 

Ann  broke  the  silence.     "How  indelicate  of  them!" 

"How  considerate,  say  I,  for  I  want  to  talk  with 
you,"  he  hurried  on.  'I  want  you  to  go  back  with 
me,  Ann,  as  my  wife.  I  can't  go  back  alone.  I  have 
missed  you  horribly.  Dear  girl,  answer  me,  are  you 
ready  to  go?" 

Ann  remained  silent,  her  mind  running  over  for 
the  hundredth  time  the  advantages,  the  duties  in 
volved,  while  his  plea  proceeded,  earnest  and  manly, 
but  leaving  her  cold.  It  permitted  her  to  calculate, 
to  criticise.  He  had  much  to  give  her;  he  was  a  man 
of  large  income,  of  unquestioned  power,  and  his  home 

299 


Hesper 

was  spacious.  She  liked  him,  she  respected  him  very 
highly,  she  admired  him,  but — 

The  girl's  dream  was  not  yet  faded  out  of  her  soul. 
She  hoped — faintly,  foolishly  hoped — for  a  return  of 
the  glow,  the  mystery,  the  flooding,  transforming 
power  of  a  love  that  was  more,  than  respect,  more 
than  honor  and  admiration  —  a  love  that  retained 
something  of  the  elemental  and  the  primitive;  some 
thing  not  to  be  resisted,  under  which  there  was  no 
current  of  self-interest  —  a  passion  not  to  be  meas 
ured,  weighed,  and  classified,  but  a  blind,  potent,  irre 
sistible,  glorious  force. 

She  found  herself  saying:  "I  know,  Wayne,  we 
seem  suited  to  each  other — all  our  friends  would  say 
so — but  I'm  not  so  sure  of  it.  It  is  silly  in  me,  but  I 
am  still  wanting  to  be  sure.  I  don't  care  for  you  as 
I  ought  to  do.  I'm  no  longer  a  school-girl;  I  know 
what  marriage  means,  and  unless  I  can  feel  differ 
ently  from  the  way  I  do  now,  I  shall  not  marry." 

He  was  a  little  encouraged.  "Can  there  be  a  better, 
a  more  enduring  basis  for  marriage  than  respect  and 
admiration?  You  say  you  like  me — that  you  honor 
me—' 

"Would  you  ask  me  to  marry  you  if  you  only  ad 
mired  and  respected  me?"  she  asked. 

"If  you  were  you,  yes." 

She  smiled.  "You  are  evading;  you  said  you  loved 
me." 

"  I  do.     My  whole  life  is  bound  up  in  you." 

"Then  you  have  what  I  have  not  and  our  marriage 
would  be  unequal.  Oh,  don't  press  me!"  she  cried, 
in  sudden  weariness  and  despair.  "I  don't  want 
to  make  you  unhappy  and  yet  I  must  if  you  insist 

300 


Ann    Sends    Peabody    Away 

on  an  answer.  I  cannot  do  it,  Wayne!  Please, 
please  consider  this  final!" 

"Take  time  to  consider,  Ann.  You  are  crushing 
every  ambition  I  have.  Do  you  realize  that  for 
years  I've  struggled  to  win  your  love!  Every  vic 
tory  I've  won  has  been  good  to  me  because  I  hoped 
to  have  you  share  my  honors,  my  home." 

"Don't  say  those  things  to  me;  they  do  no  good. 
Women  don't  marry  men  merely  because  they  honor 
them.  Marriage  means  something  more  to  women 
than  to  men — something  more  than  respect  is  neces 
sary  to  sanctify  it.  If  that  something,  that  other 
higher  impulse  does  not  come,  I  shall  not  marry." 

"  Have  you  met  any  one  else  who  rouses  this  other — 
emotion?" 

She  flushed.     "I  don't  know.     I  am  not  sure." 

He  sank  back  in  his  chair,  heavy  and  inert.  The 
muscles  of  his  cheeks  drooped,  giving  him  the  aspect 
of  a  man  of  fifty.  "Don't  throw  yourself  away.  Ann, 
for  God's  sake,  assert  your  common-sense!  If  you 
cannot  come  to  my  home,  don't  waste  your  beauty, 
your  culture,  on  some  savage.  It  hurts  me  to  see  you 
out  here,  living  among  these  sordid  men — " 

She  interrupted  him.  ' '  There  is  another  inexplicable 
thing.  This  life  has  interested  me.  It  has  developed 
in  me  a  capacity  for  physical  effort  that  I  didn't  know 
I  had.  It's  my  good  old  Dutch  grandmother  coming 
out  in  me,  I  suppose." 

"  But  you  can't  live  here  indefinitely,  cut  off  from  all 
your  friends  and  the  comforts  of  your  home." 

"I'm  not  so  sui.  about  that,"  she  gravely  answered. 
"I  don't  seem  to  care  as  much  for  our  home  and  the 
city  as  I  thought  I  did,  and  that  was  little.  I've  tried 

301 


Hesper 

being  a  cosmopolite,  and  it  has  brought  me  nothing — it 
was  like  trying  to  embrace  the  east  wind.  I've  reached 
a  queer  state — a  sort  of  distorted  epicureanism.  I  have 
decided  to  do  that  which  hurts  me  worst  for  a  time.  If 
I  don't  want  to  do  a  thing,  then  I'm  going  to  make  it 
my  duty  and  do  it." 

'"Then  marry  me!"  he  swiftly  interjected. 

"  No,  no !  I  don't  mean  that — all  but  that,"  she  pro 
tested.  "It  was  your  legal  mind  that  trapped  me. 
No,  I  daren't  marry  on  the  basis  of  my  new  philosophy 
— at  least  not  now." 

"You  are  glaringly  inconsistent.  I  don't  believe  a 
word  in  your  new  philosophy.  I  begin  to  believe  that 
you  are  taking  a  depraved  pleasure  in  living  in  a 
shack  and  scrubbing  dishes." 

"Anyhow,  I'm  going  to  let  happiness  find  me.  For 
years,  ever  since  I  left  school,  I've  sought  pleasure. 
I've  been  everywhere — England,  Egypt,  Europe,  Asia, 
Africa — you  know  how  we  have  globe-trotted.  What 
has  it  given  me?  A  sense  of  failure  here,"  she  put  her 
finger-tip  to  her  temple.  "So  far  I've  lived  like  my 
mother,  but  my  father  was  the  flower  of  a  duty-loving 
old  Dutch  family,  and  I  hear  his  voice  now  after  all 
these  years.  If  he  had  lived,  I  would  have  been  a  dif 
ferent  girl.  It  will  seem  absurd  to  you,  but  I  have 
grown  to  love  sweet,  little,  patient  Mrs.  Kelly.  I  like 
grand  old  Matt.  I  like  the  rude  walls  and  the  'hand 
made  stoves,'  as  Matt  calls  the  fireplaces— 

"And  the  tall  young  miner?"  Peabody  suddenly  in 
terrupted  to  ask,  and  leaning  towards  her,  a  flash  of 
insight  in  his  eyes.  "Or  is  it  the  handsome,  dare-devil 
Munro?" 

A  swift  flush  rose  to  her  face,  she  lost  speech,  her 
302 


Ann    Sends    Peabody    Away 

eyes  fell.  "Yes — I — I  like  them,  too,"  she  said. 
"They  interest  me.  They  are  vital,  unconventional, 
real." 

"And  would  you  marry  one  of  them?" 

"Am  I  on  the  witness-stand?"  she  asked,  half  resent 
fully,  half  in  humor. 

"I  beg  your  pardon;  I  didn't  intend  an  imperti 
nence." 

In  this  swift  interchange  of  highly  emotionalized 
thought  they  had  forgotten  where  they  sat,  and  all 
knowledge  of  time  had  failed  them.  Ann  glanced  at 
the  clock  and  rose,  but  Peabody  said:  "Please  don't 
go!  We  will  never  have  a  more  important  subject 
to  discuss."  She  sank  back  into  her  chair  and  he 
went  on  quite  calmly,  his  eyes  very  grave  and  sweet. 
"Ann,  I  want  you  to  be  happy.  I  am  not  the  kind  of 
lover  who  would  make  his  bride  a  captive  to  her  own 
sorrow." 

"I  wish  you  were,"  she  said,  under  breath. 

"It  seemed  to  me  when  I  came  that  I  could  make 
you  happy.  I  doubt  it  now;  but  I  must  say  a  word  of 
warning  about  this  new  light  you  are  following.  I 
believe  in  love,  too ;  but  can  you  afford  to  follow  an  im 
pulse  that  has  its  seat  in  the  organic  ?  You  know  what  I 
mean.  In  general  it  is  a  guide,  but  it  is  necessary  to  con 
sider  other  things  in  order  to  avoid  sorrow  and  pain." 

But  have  we  any  right  to  avoid  sorrow  and  pain  ? 
Isn't  my  present  condition — my  uselessness — due  to 
just  that  calculation?  What  right  have  I  to  come 
down  to  death  saying,  'I've  had  a  good  time  all  my 
days  '?  There  is  something  wrong  in  my  life,  Wayne. 
I've  been  eating  whipped  cream  and  hot -house  fruit 
till  my  nature  cries  out  for  curds  and  whey.  I  don't 

303 


Hesper 

know  where  I'll  fetch  up,  but  just  now  I  am  bruising 
myself  against  realities.  My  feet  have  touched  planks, 
and  I  am  better  for  it." 

"Velvet  is  as  great  a  reality  as  a  plank  floor." 

"It  may  be,  but  it  doesn't  seem  so  to  me  just  now, 
and  velvet  is  only  what  it  seems  to  me.  The  plain 
truth  is,  I  am  happier,  healthier  than  I  have  been  for 
years,  and  I  dare  not  let  go  of  what  I  have  gained.  I 
shudder  to  think  what  I  was." 

"If  it  is  contrast  you  want,  you  could  get  it  in  the 
Tyrol,  or  even  in  the  Adirondacks.  Planks  are  planks. 
You  might  even  scrub  floors  in  a  tenement  on  the  East 
Side.  I'll  do  anything  to  make  you  happy." 

She  shook  her  head  sadly  but  decisively.  "You  do 
not  understand  me;  but  no  matter.  This  you  must 
understand.  This  talk  has  cleared  my  own  mind.  I 
admire  you  and  I  like  you,  but  as  I  feel  now  I  can  never 
marry  you."  A  little  shiver  passed  over  her  at  the 
thought.  "No,  it  is  impossible.  I'm  sorry,  but  you 
must  go  back  alone." 

He  took  his  dismissal  quietly,  but  he  suffered.  His 
voice  was  tremulous  with  passionate  regret  as  he  bowed 
over  her  hand.  "I  accept  your  verdict,  Ann,  and  I 
can  only  hope  that  your  new  light  may  not  lead  you  into 
a  slough  of  despond." 

She  stood  before  him  transfigured  by  some  emotion 
he  could  not  divine.  "  I  have  never  been  afraid  of  any 
thing  except  my  growing  distaste  of  life.  Now  that 
the  joy  of  living  is  coming  back  to  me,  I  am  as  young 
as  my  years." 

"Then  good-bye,  and  God  bless  you,"  he  said,  with 
heart-felt  sincerity,  and  left  her  transfigured  by  some 
inward  light. 


XXI 

Raymond  Receives  Visitors 

FOR  the  first  time  in  his  life  Raymond  was  lonely, 
almost  to  the  point  of  despair.  To  have  both 
Ann  and  Louis  taken  out  of  his  life  on  the  same  day 
left  a  painfully  empty  space.  He  did  not  permit  him 
self  to  hope  that  Ann  would  return — he  had,  in  fact, 
advised  against  it — and  after  his  supper  was  over  he  sat 
beside  the  fire  listening  to  the  wind  and  pulling  at  his 
pipe  like  one  deserted  of  his  kind. 

It  had  turned  cold,  and  a  great  current  of  air  was 
sweeping  down  from  the  peak — a  movement  portend 
ing  some  great  change  in  the  clouds.  Kelly  predicted 
snow ;  but  as  most  of  the  outside  work  on  the  mine  was 
done,  he  was  not  concerned  about  the  weather.  He 
was,  in  fact,  taking  account  of  himself  and  trying  to  ad 
just  himself  to  a  future  without  "  Hesper."  The  glow 
of  his  pride  had  died  out.  The  confidence  which 
sprang  from  his  possession  of  gold  had  dulled  into 
doubt. 

He  found  his  evening  unrestful  and  purposeless. 
Taking  down  a  book  he  tried  to  read,  but  his  mind 
wandered.  He  laid  a  scratch-pad  on  his  knee  and  fell 
to  figuring  out  his  profits  on  the  mine,  and  this  proved 
a  more  absorbing  business.  He  was  intensely  eager 
to  own  the  mine,  and  so  be  rid  of  Curran  and  his  spies; 

305 


Hesper 

and  if  the  vein  went  on  deepening  and  widening  they 
could  buy  it  in  with  a  few  good  shipments,  and  then  all 
that  it  yielded  would  be  divided  between  Kelly  and 
himself  and  his  men,  for  some  sort  of  profit-sharing 
plan  was  taking  form  in  his  mind  as  the  outcome  of 
the  prolonged  debates  on  the  rights  of  labor.  "They 
help  lift  the  gold,  they  ought  to  share  in  it,"  he 
argued. 

He  carried  his  figuring  on  to  the  point  where  he  could 
build  a  home  and  ask  "  Someone  "  to  share  it  with  him. 
Where  this  mansion  should  stand  he  left  undecided, 
for  the  same  reason  that  he  did  not  permit  himself 
to  name  the  woman  of  its  fireside.  In  this  mood  he 
was  not  so  sure  of  the  power  of  his  gold  as  he  had 
been  on  that  misty  morning,  and  the  letter  which  he 
had  fashioned  to  write  to  his  father  remained  un- 
penned.  "I  will  wait  till  the  money  is  in  my  hand," 
he  said. 

As  he  sat  thus,  pondering  over  his  problem,  he 
heard  voices,  and  a  moment  later  a  loud  rap  shook 
his  door,  ominous  with  its  decisiveness  of  stroke. 

"Come  in!"  he  shouted,  somewhat  surlily,  for  he 
did  not  enjoy  interruption. 

Munro,  Brock,  Carter,  and  one  or  two  others  he 
didn't  know  entered,  covered  with  snow. 

"Good-evening,  gentlemen."  He  indicated  chairs. 
"What  can  I  do  for  you  this  evening?" 

Carter  seemed  very  nervous  and  took  a  seat  with 
out  looking  at  his  host.  Munro  was  smiling,  but  his 
eyes  were  aslant  as  he  replied: 

"Oh,  we  just  called  to  pass  the  time  of  night  and 
inquire  about  your  good  health." 

Raymond  glanced  from  Munro 's  waggish  lips  to 
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Raymond    Receives    Visitors 

the  frowning  or  troubled  faces  of  the  other  men  and 
braced  himself  for  trouble. 

"Out  with  it,  Carter!     What  do  you  want  of  me?" 

Carter  fidgeted  on  his  chair.  "Well,  you  see,  it's 
this  way,  Rob.  We  held  a  meeting  to-day  and  we  de 
cided  that,  in  view  of  the  struggle  that  labor  is  mak 
ing  here,  all  the  mines  should  either  shut  down  or  put 
their  men  into  the  ranks." 

"You  have  asked  my  men  to  join,  haven't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"What  did  they  say?" 

Munro  chipped  in,  "They  said,  'Go  to  blazes.'" 

Raymond  smiled.  "How  impolite  of  them!  Well, 
now,  let  me  say  once  again,  Carter,  I  am  in  sym 
pathy  with  your  main  objects.  I  think  a  man  should 
be  paid  for  every  minute  he  works,  but  I  don't  believe 
in  any  method  of  forcing  men  who  are  working,  and 
want  to  work,  into  a  strike.  I  can't  afford  to  go  into 
any  such  organization." 

"You  can't  afford  not  to,"  growled  Brock. 

His  tone  angered  Raymond.  "What  have  you  to 
say  in  this  matter?" 

"I'm  a  member  of  the  executive  committee." 

"Since  when?" 

"No  matter  when.     What  I  say  goes." 

"Does  it?  Well,  you  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your 
jaws  when  speaking  to  me." 

Brock  rose.  "You'll  close  down  to-morrow  or  we'll 
close  you  down." 

Raymond  faced  him.  "We  will  not  close  down, 
and  you  can't  close  us  down.  Carter  knows,  and 
you  know,  Jack,  I've  played  fair  in  this.  I  have  not 
believed  in  your  methods.  I  stood  with  Larned, 

307 


Hesper 

your  own  organizer,  against  violence.  If  you  can't 
convince  my  men  by  argument  you  needn't  come 
to  me  to  dragoon  them  into  your  ranks.  What  dif 
ference  will  my  hands  make,  anyway?" 

Carter  seized  upon  this.  "It  will  make  all  the 
difference  there  is.  There  are  a  dozen  of  these  small 
operators  holding  out  because  you  and  Kelly  do. 
Your  men  are  all  strong  men  and  ought  to  be  with 
us.  Besides,  it  weakens  our  discipline — 

Raymond  interrupted.  "We've  been  all  over  that 
before.  I  am  not  concerned  with  your  discipline. 
I  have  no  quarrel  with  my  men.  They  are  satisfied 
with  our  present  arrangement." 

"But  we  must  take  into  account  the  solidarity  of 
labor — " 

"The  solidarity  of  labor!  I  cannot  afford  to  sac 
rifice  my  business  for  a  mere  phrase.  You're  going 
at  this  back-end  to.  If  you  would  turn  your  atten 
tion  to  reforming  mining  laws  and  crushing  out  these 
speculative  owners  of  mining  lands,  you  would  really 
be  doing  something;  but  your  assault  on  men  who 
are  paying  labor  full  wages  weakens  your  case." 

Kelly  opened  the  door  and  entered  while  Ray 
mond  was  speaking. 

"What's  the  meaning  of  all  this?"  he  asked. 

Raymond  coldly  replied,  "These  men  have  come 
to  serve  a  final  notice  on  us  to  discharge  our  non 
union  men  or  shut  down." 

"Not  at  all!"  cried  out  Carter,  who  feared  Kelly. 
"All  we  ask  is  that  you  recommend  your  men  to  join 
the  union — " 

Brock  sprang  to  his  feet  again.  "  Oh,  rats!  What's 
the  use  of  beating  around  the  bush.  We  know  that 

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Raymond    Receives    Visitors 

you  fellers  are  the  backbone  of  the  free  miners'  as 
sociation,  and  that  they  would  all  come  in  if  you  said 
so,  and  we  need  you  and  your  men.  We  want  you 
to  head  'em  our  way." 

Kelly  smiled.  "Ye're  not  asking  much.  So  far 
as  I'm  concerned,  Carter,  I  don't  believe  a  word  in 
you  and  your  school -boy,  tomfool  antics.  From 
the  very  start  ye've  gone  wrong.  You  began  by  de 
fending  a  lot  of  drunken  blaggards,  and  that  queered 
ye  with  every  decent  man.  Go  back  to  camp,  arrest 
Denver  Dan,  San  Juan  Jones,  Hob  Smith,  and  the 
rest  of  the  bunch,  and  send  them  down  to  the  valley 
as  a  peace  offering;  then  serve  notice  on  the  men  that 
blew  up  the  Red  Star  that  they'll  be  hung  to-morrow 
morning.  By  that  time  I'll  begin  to  believe  in  you 
and  your  love  for  the  honest  working-man — "  Kelly 
turned  to  Brock  and  his  tone  cut  like  a  frosty  blade 
as  he  said:  "Ye  are  dominated  this  minute  by  a  man 
who  ought  to  be  thrown  out  of  camp.  I  know  you, 
1  Bloody '  Brock.  I  know  the  hole  in  the  ground  ye 
are  going  to  fill  if  ye  don't  cross  the  high  range,  and 
do  it  soon." 

Carter,  utterly  unable  to  stem  the  flood  of  Kelly's 
indignant  speech,  sat  with  drooping  head.  He  stam 
mered,  "You — you're  a  traitor  to  labor." 

"I  am  a  traitor  to  nothing  that  is  good,  but  I  am 
worn  out  and  weary  with  your  yellin',  cursin',  gam- 
blin',  drunken  loons  that  assume  to  be  workmen. 
I  have  more  respect  for  the  weak  little  Dagoes,  for  they 
do  want  work  and  need  it;  but  the  bums  that  fill  the 
streets  are  a  sorry  threat  to  a  decent  man,  let  alone 
a  decent  woman;  and  here's  Jack  Munro  "  —  Kelly 
turned,  and  the  smile  died  out  of  the  young  despera- 


Hesper 

do's  face  —  "he's  chief  of  a  gang  of  hoodlum  cow 
boys,  and  still  pretends  to  be  keepin'  the  peace.  If 
you  want  to  help  the  cause  of  labor,  Jack,  me  boy, 
close  the  saloons  while  this  strike  is  going  on;  protect 
the  women  and  children;  arrest  and  throw  out  the 
men  that  blew  up  the  Red  Star  mine — you  know  who 
they  are — 

"I  do  not,"  said  Munro. 

''Then  find  'em,  you  who  are  so  sharp  ye  can  find 
a  tack  in  the  grass;  but, by  the  piper!  till  ye  do  some 
thing  to  make  the  street  less  of  a  hell,  ye  shall  kape 
away  from  Matt  Kelly  and  Matt  Kelly's  wife  and 
babies.  The  whole  town  is  mad  with  drink  this  night, 
and  you  here  bio  win'  bubbles  about  their  righteous 
cause.  Black  shame  to  the  gang  of  ye!" 

He  was  lion-like  in  his  wrath,  and  the  group  of  labor 
leaders  cowered  before  him  like  revealed  conspira 
tors.  Only  Munro  seemed  unabashed. 

"That's  all  well  enough  to  demand,  Matt,  but  to 
carry  it  out  is  another  story." 

"Because  ye're  one  o'  them,"  answered  Kelly. 
"You  boast  of  your  power;  ye're  a  man  of  education- 
some  say  military  education.  You  know  what  disci 
pline  is,  but  when  it  comes  to  controlling  your  men 
from  insulting  strangers  and  abusing  women  you 
set  down.  Now,  listen  to  me.  This  is  my  last  word 
on  this  subject.  We  are  neutral.  We  have  had  no 
part  in  this  row  and  we  will  take  none.  Go  on,  work 
out  ye're  jackass  plan,  rouse  the  whole  State,  make  a 
political  issue  of  yourselves,  but  lave  Raymond  & 
Kelly  out  of  it.  Lave  our  men  alone.  They  are 
satisfied  and  earnin'  good  wages.  As  for  my  good 
advice,  take  it  or  lave  it.  If  you  take  it,  ye  win; 

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Raymond    Receives    Visitors 

if  yon  lave  it,  ye  lose.  I  am  for  peace.  I've  done 
everything  a  man  could  do  to  kape  the  peace ;  I  must 
do  so.  Everything  I  have  in  the  world  is  here — the 
mine,  me  wife,  and  the  babies.  I  want  no  quarrel 
with  anny  man,  especially  with  a  miner,  for  I  have 
worked  for  wages  half  me  life;  but  I  tell  ye  once  more, 
boys,  this  mob  business  must  not  circle  round  that 
little  cabin  over  there.  If  wan  of  your  loafers  so 
much  as  puts  his  toe  against  my  door,  I'll  kill  him 
where  he  stands." 

He  ended  with  a  hoarse  intensity  that  silenced  the 
men  who  listened,  and  after  a  pause  Raymond  re 
marked,  very  quietly: 

"I  stand  with  Kelly  on  this  matter.  Is  there  any 
thing  further  you  want  to  say?" 

Brock  shook  his  heavy  shoulders,  as  if  to  clear  him 
self  of  a  weight,  and  clumsily  rose.  "I  reckon  that's 
all — you  stay  out?" 

"We  stand  clear,"  said  Raymond. 

Carter  fumbled  for  his  hat.  "  Of  course  you  mustn't 
think  we  blame  you,  Kelly;  you  are  right  enough 
from  your  point  of  view,  but  what  would  become  of 
labor  if  we  all  stood  aside?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Kelly.  "There  are  wise  men 
who  have  studied  this  problem  —  Hennery  Garge,  for 
instance — ye  might  look  into  his  way.  I'm  dom  sure 
your  ways  of  violence  will  never  cure  the  evil." 

As  they  stood  on  the  threshold  Brock  spoke  with  a 
vicious  sneer,  "We'll  report  your  answer." 

"Report  to  purgatory  and  back  if  ye  like,"  replied 
Kelly,  cheerfully.  '  Tis  a  plain  answer,  and  a  man 
behind  it." 

As  the  door  closed  behind  them,  Raymond  turned 


Hesper 


to  Kelly  with  a  look  of  great  solemnity.     "Matt,  this 
means  war  for  us." 

"Munro  will  stand  between  us  and  the  union." 

"I  doubt  it,  Matt.  His  power  will  vanish  the  mo 
ment  he  goes  against  the  wishes  of  the  miners.  He 
couldn't  feed  his  men  and  their  horses  without  the 
union;  he  is  in  their  pay,  for  all  his  boasting." 

Kelly  looked  thoughtful.     "That  is  true." 

"Matt,  you  better  take  the  wife  and  babies  down 
to  the  valley." 

"I've  spoken  of  that,  but  the  little  wife  will  not 
go  without  me." 

"Then  you  must  go.  It  is  not  safe  for  them  here. 
The  people  below  are  in  deadly  earnest.  They're  com 
ing  up  here  with  an  army  next  time.  You  better  take 
your  little  family  and  get  out." 

"I  can't  do  that — I  can't  leave  here.  Do  you  take 
the  wife  and  the  boys  down  to  the  Springs  while  I 
stay  here  and  see  that  the  work  goes  on." 

They  tossed  this  duty  to  and  fro,  each  arguing  in 
favor  of  the  other,  till  Raymond  said,  "Very  well, 
let's  leave  it  to  the  wife." 

As  they  stepped  out  into  the  night  Kelly  cried  out: 
"Here  comes  the  snow.  Munro's  pickets  have  a  hard 
night  before  them." 

Lifting  his  face  to  the  ray  less  sky,  Raymond  felt 
the  feathery  touch  of  snow  upon  his  forehead,  and 
looking  towards  the  lighted  windows,  the  thick-falling 
flakes  could  be  seen  in  dancing  swarm.  "It  will  cover 
the  grass — Jack  will  find  his  cavalry  expensive." 

Kelly's  sons  were  fast  asleep  in  their  bed,  but  the 
small  mother  still  sat  at  her  sewing,  her  head  haloed 
with  lamplight.  She  had  grown  pinker  and  plumper 

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since  Ann's  ministry  began,  and  was  the  pretty  cen 
tre  of  a  sweet  domestic  picture  as  she  looked  up  and 
greeted  the  two  men. 

"I'm  glad  you've  come,"  she  said.  ''My  heart  is 
lonely  without  Ann.  Do  you  think  she'll  ever  come 
back,  Rob?" 

"I  hope  so,"  he  replied,  but  his  voice  had  no  hearti 
ness  of  conviction  in  it. 

"I'm  glad  she's  away — just  now,"  said  Kelly,  com 
ing  straight  to  business  as  usual.  "And  Rob  thinks 
you'd  better  go  down  to  the  Springs  also." 

"And  leave  you  here,  Matt  Kelly?  I  will  not. 
You'd  be  sure  to  get  into  trouble  at  once.  If  I  go, 
you  go," 

Kelly  looked  at  Raymond  with  a  comical  lift  of 
one  eyebrow.  "That  settles  it — we  stay!" 

Mrs.  Kelly  laughed  gayly.  "I  can't  trust  you  two 
hot-heads." 

"There's  going  to  be  trouble,"  warned  Raymond, 
"and  you  ought  not  to  be  here." 

"The  fightin'  will  not  be  on  the  hill — you  said  so 
yerself,  Matt." 

"I  did,  and  I  think  so  still;  but  at  the  same  time 
'twould  be  safer  far  if  you  and  the  lads  were  in  the 
Springs." 

"What  has  happened  to-night,  Matt?  You  were 
not  so  blue  when  you  went  out." 

He  told  her  quietly  while  she  rocked  to  and  fro  in 
her  low  chair.  She  seemed  scarcely  to  listen,  but  at 
the  end  she  said:  "You  did  right.  I  am  heart-sick  of 
these  drinkin',  carousin'  miners  who  go  about  mak 
ing  trouble  for  others.  The  most  of  them  have  no 
one  but  themselves,  and  they  don't  care  what  they 


Hesper 

do.  If  Jack  Munro  is  the  man  he  boasts  himself  to 
be  all  the  time,  he'll  come  in  here  and  protect  his 
friends." 

''Jack  is  up  against  a  hard  streak  o'  weather.  He's 
either  got  to  stand  in  with  the  union  or  put  up  the 
money  to  feed  and  take  care  of  his  men  and  horses,  and 
that's  no  small  item  when  the  snows  have  covered  the 
grass.  If  he  should  join  us,  his  power  would  be  gone. 
He  can't—" 

A  knock  at  the  door  brought  a  smile  to  Kelly's  face. 
"Talk  of  the  devil  and  he's  at  your  elbow — come!" 

Munro  entered  the  room  hurriedly,  like  a  man  pur 
sued.  His  collar  was  rolled  high  and  his  hat  pulled 
low.  He  shut  the  door  behind  himself  quickly;  but 
when  he  turned,  his  usual  devil-may-care  grin  was  on 
his  face. 

"Boys,  this  is  on  the  q  t.  I  mustn't  be  seen  down 
here  any  more.  This  neutral  game  is  up.  They're  go 
ing  to  make  war  on  you  independent  operators — sure 
thing — and  I  can't  hobnob  with  you.  Oh,  but  they're 
wild  up  the  street  to-night!  The  report  is  that  the 
sheriff  has  started  up  the  old  stage-road,  and  the  lads 
are  crazy  to  do  'em  up.  I've  got  to  go  down  the  canon 
and  see." 

"  It's  another  false  alarm.  The  sheriff  isn't  going  to 
march  in  on  this  camp  even  with  ten  thousand  depu 
ties." 

"Anyhow,  that's  what  they  believe  up  there,  and 
they're  hot  against  you.  This  neutral  dodge  of  yours 
won't  work.  I  can't  do  much  for  you,  but  anything 
I  can  do  to  keep  this  little  home  undisturbed  I'll  do." 
He  bowed  to  Mrs.  Kelly.  "But,  as  you  said  to-day,  I 
can't  maintain  my  men  without  the  help  of  the  miners, 


Raymond    Receives    Visitors 

and  besides,  boys,  I  believe  in  organized  labor.  Labor 
is  an  army,  and  discipline  is  everything." 

"Why  don't  you  maintain  it  then?" 

The  smile  dropped  from  his  face  like  a  mask,  and  a 
sinister,  older  man  faced  them:  "Give  me  time.  What 
this  camp  needs  is  a  little  Napoleon  —  the  whiff  of 
grape-shot.  It  needs  a  dictator,  and  I  may  be  able 
to  lay  my  hand  on  the  sceptre  yet." 

"It's  pure  anarchy  now,"  said  Raymond. 

"  It  was  till  I  entered  the  game.  I  am  in  control  of 
the  situation  to-night.  If  I  could  command  ten  thou 
sand  dollars  to  take  care  of  my  men,  I'd  bring  order 
out  of  chaos,  or  hang  about  forty  of  these  hoboes." 

"If  you'll  make  this  camp  law-abiding,  Jack,  you  will 
be  one  of  the  great  men  of  the  State — even  the  valley 
will  praise  you.  It's  up  to  you  this  minute  to  show 
your  power." 

"Yes,  but  there  are  a  whole  lot  of  other  considera 
tions.  I  can't  afford  to  play  into  the  hands  of  those 
cursed,  one-lung  dudes.  If  it  were  a  question  of  men 
like  you  and  Kelly  here — but  it  isn't.  The  Red  Star 
company  is  made  up  of  a  set  of  pirates,  who  batten 
on  labor  like  a  lot  of  turkey-buzzards.  They  have  no 
regard  for  any  human  rights — " 

' '  These  howling  dervishes  up  the  street  are  not  con 
cerned  with  rights — not  even  their  own." 

Munro  was  in  deadly  earnest  now.  "That's  where 
you  are  wrong,  old  man.  In  their  blind,  fool  way 
they  are  fighting  labor's  battles.  They  stand  for  the 
future.  It  isn't  easy  to  strike  a  balance  here,  but  I'm 
on  the  side  of  labor,  and  against  privilege.  The 
future  belongs  to  the  common  soldier — no  doubt  of 
that.  If  those  '  yaller-legs '  come  up  here,  I'll  put  up 


Hesper 

b  fight  that  will  make  their  noses  turn  gray.  On  that 
point  my  men  are  sound.  They  will  fight  till  the  last 
man.  No,  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  play  into  their  hands!" 

''It's  a  queer  mix-up,"  said  Kelly,  with  a  sigh.  "I 
have  a  hatred  of  them  dudes  meself.  They  want  to 
run  our  end  of  the  county,  and  their  own  too.  They 
despise  a  workin'-man.  They  dodge  'im  as  if  he  were 
a  pole-cat." 

Raymond  rapped  on  the  table.  "Now  wait  a  mo 
ment.  You're  confusing  the  jury.  The  immediate 
question  is, '  How  can  we  keep  that  mob  of  deputies 
from  coming  up  here?'  I'll  tell  you  what  I  will  do.  I 
will  volunteer  to  go  down  and  meet  the  leaders  and  try 
to  stop  their  advance." 

Kelly  rose  with  a  spring.  "Go,  you!  I  believe  you 
can  do  the  trick.  Barnett  is  your  friend.  The  sheriff 
is  mine.  I  would  go  with  you,  but  I  dare  not  leave 
me  home." 

"Never  mind  me,  Matt,"  said  the  small  wife. 

"You're  both  taking  a  big  risk,"  remarked  Munro. 
"They  may  arrest  you  both." 

"I  have  no  fear,"  Kelly  said;  "but  I  dare  not  go- 
just  now." 

"I  will  go  if  the  executive  committee  will  authorize 
me  to  treat  with  the  opposition,"  declared  Raymond. 

"They  will  never  do  that,  but  Carter  may.  You 
might  take  him.  He's  scared  nearly  out  of  his  skin; 
but  he  might  be  willing  to  go.  Come  with  me  and  we 
will  see." 

"Be  careful  where  you  step,  Rob,"  said  Kelly,  anx- 
iously.  "The  grass  is  full  o'  rattlers." 

"I'll  take  care  of  myself,"  he  answered,  cheerily. 
"Good-night." 

316 


Raymond    Receives    Visitors 

As  he  closed  the  door  behind  him  he  said :  "I'm  trust 
ing  you,  Jack.  If  you  lead  me  into  a  trap,  I'll  carry 
you  with  me." 

Munro's  voice  had  an  injured  tone  as  he  spoke  from 
the  darkness.  "You  do  me  a  great  injustice." 

"  I  said  that  as  a  test.     '  Lead  on,  MacdufiV  " 

It  required  courage  even  with  such  a  guide  as  Munro 
to  walk  the  troubled  streets  that  night.  The  town  was 
filled  with  the  most  abandoned  women  and  the  most 
lawless  men  of  the  whole  mountain  West.  Up  to  this 
time  all  the  martial  preparations  of  the  camp  had  been 
half-hearted  —  underneath  every  menace  had  lain  a 
vein  of  humor;  every  movement  had  been  in  the  nat 
ure  of  a  huge,  rough  joke,  but  now  the  camp  was  in 
fighting  mood.  Tongues  clattered  in  hot  curses,  and 
with  the  sound  of  their  own  voices  men  were  inflamed. 
The  saloons  echoed  with  fiery  denunciations  of  the 
mine-owners.  Gangs  of  armed  desperadoes  paraded 
the  walks,  calling  for  volunteers  to  assemble  at  the 
armory,  and  as  Munro  met  and  greeted  these  men, 
Raymond  was  made  fully  aware  of  his  power  over 
them. 

Those  who  recognized  Raymond  burst  into  laughter 
and  shouted,  "  Bringin'  him  in,  are  ye,  Jack?" 

One  infuriate  aimed  a  blow  at  Raymond's  face,  but 
Munro  felled  him  with  the  butt  of  his  revolver  and 
walked  on. 

In  the  headquarters  of  the  organization  they  found 
Carter  and  his  staff  loudly  discussing  measures,  and 
answering  and  sending  messages.  Dolan,  the  friendly 
reporter,  was  there,  and  also  the  representative  of  the 
Bozle  Nugget.  They  were  both  deeply  trusted,  and 
their  advice  was  most  carefully  considered.  Upon  see- 


Hesper 

ing  Raymond  with  Munro,  Dolan  rushed  forward. 
' '  What's  the  meaning  of  this  ?  Have  the  independents 
come  in?" 

Munro  said, quietly:  "  Boys,  I  want  to  be  alone  with 
the  president.  Clear  the  room,  Sergeant  Poole." 

A  tall  young  fellow  in  cow-boy's  dress  drew  a  big 
revolver,  and,  using  it  as  a  sort  of  baton,  impassively 
drove  every  one  but  the  president,  his  secretary,  and 
Raymond  from  the  room. 

Munro  put  Raymond's  proposition  before  Carter  in 
a  few  words.  Carter  turned  white  with  fear. 

"I  can't  do  that.  They'd  kill  me.  They  hold  me 
responsible  for  everything  that's  been  done  here.  The 
Governor  has  wired  me  to  meet  him,  but  I  daren't  do 
it.  It's  suicide  to  do  it." 

"Then  I  will  go  alone,"  said  Raymond,  in  vast  dis 
gust.  "  Give  me  a  letter  saying  you  would  like  to  meet 
and  confer  with  the  sheriff  to  prevent  bloodshed,  and  I 
will  present  it." 

Carter  was  shaking  with  excitement  over  the  re 
sponsibility  thrust  upon  him.  "  I  don't  know  what  to 
say." 

""I'll  tell  you  what  to  say,"  put  in  Munro.  "Tell 
him  we  are  fully  organized  and  heavily  armed,  but  that 
we  desire  to  avoid  bloodshed,  and  to  that  end  invite 
him  and  the  president  of  the  Red  Star  company  to 
meet  with  us  and  Raymond,  in  the  presence  of  the 
Governor  of  the  State,  in  the  hope  of  arriving  at  a  com 
promise." 

Raymond  was  pleased.  "That's  the  first  note  of 
sense  I  have  heard  uttered  in  this  whole  row." 

"  I  intend  to  take  a  hand  from  this  on,"  said  Munro, 
quietly,  as  Carter  was  writing  the  letter.  "  I  shall  have 


Raymond    Receives    Visitors 

to  kill  a  few  of  these  loud-mouthed  Weary  Willies,  who 
want  to  go  to  war  by  use  of  somebody  else's  rela 
tions." 

When  the  letter  was  delivered  to  him  Munro  said: 
"  Now,  Carter,  keep  mum  about  this.  If  it  works  out 
you  can  have  all  the  credit  for  it;  if  it  fails  I'll  take  the 
kicking." 

The  crowd  in  the  outer  room  were  consumed  with 
curiosity  as  the  two  young  men  came  out,  but  Munro 
said:  "Get  the  recruits  all  together.  I'll  be  back  in 
half  an  hour  and  put  them  through  the  paces." 

Mounting  their  horses,  they  set  off  down  the  trail  in 
the  thick-falling  snow,  guided  only  by  the  dim  lights  in 
the  valley. 

"It's  a  tough  night  to  be  out,  Rob,  but  you're  less 
likely  to  be  interfered  with  on  that  account.  If  you 
meet  any  of  my  pickets  the  countersign  is  'contact — 
porphyry — and  slate."1 

They  rode  in  silence  till  they  reached  the  broad  stage- 
road,  which  wound  round  the  base  of  the  hill  and  dipped 
into  the  canon  of  the  Bear  River.  No  one  was  abroad, 
and  their  horses'  feet  made  no  sound  in  the  snow. 

Under   an   overhanging   fir   Munro   pulled   up. 
think  you're  all  right  now.     You  won't  meet  any  one 
except,  possibly,  one  of  my  men." 

"Jack,  old  man,"  began  Raymond,  with  feeling, 
"after  all,  we  are  classmates,  and  I  don't  want  to  see 
you  run  your  neck  into  a  noose.  Why  not  ride  on  with 
me  and  get  out  of  this  business?" 

"  No,  I'm  going  to  stay  right  here,  and  prove  that  my 
aims  are  right.  I've  been  working  slowly  to  the  point 
where  I  could  take  control.  I'm  pretty  near  there  now, 
and  when  I  do  take  hold,  I'll  make  Brock  and  his  ho- 


Hesper 

boes  hit  the  western  trail  or  tread  the  air.  I'm  in  this 
thing  to  win  out,  in  spite  of  your  'dude'  friends  or 
Brock's  gang." 

"It's  dangerous  business,  Jack." 

"Oh,  that  doesn't  trouble  me.  By-the-way,  you'll 
see  the  lady  from  New  York — present  my  regards,  will 
you  ?  Tell  her  that '  when  this  cruel  war  is  over '  I  hope 
to  call  upon  her  in  the  Springs.  Good-night." 

"Good-night,"  replied  Raymond,  and  for  the  mo 
ment  both  forgot  their  duties  and  the  dark  night  in 
thought  of  Ann. 


XXII 
Raymond  Meets  Ann  Again 

RAYMOND'S  descent  of  the  canon  was  singularly 
uneventful.  He  met  neither  the  invading  army 
nor  the  patrol.  No  living  things  but  himself  and  his 
horse  were  roaming  the  world  of  snow,  and  he  rode 
slowly,  silently,  so  intent  on  keeping  the  road  that  little 
time  was  left  him  in  which  to  ponder  other  possibilities. 
Happily  the  storm  lessened  as  he  descended,  and  by 
dawn  he  was  once  more  trotting  with  the  calm,  close- 
adhering  seat  of  the  cow-boy,  his  horse's  hoofs  striking 
sharply  on  the  hard  ground  beneath  its  thin,  white 
coverlet. 

The  east  was  a  dome  of  scarlet  and  saffron  arching  a 
pale-violet  world  of  plain — a  wondrously  cold,  clear,  and 
inspiriting  sky;  and,  tired  as  he  was,  he  rose  in  his 
stirrups  with  a  half-uttered  cry  of  exultation.  After 
all,  his  first  love  was  the  plain.  The  mountains  fasci 
nated  and  allured  him,  but  the  level  lands  filled  him 
with  wordless  longing,  for  they  were  associated  with 
his  first  romance. 

He  had  planned  to  go  to  a  friend's  house  in  the  lower 
town,  but  with  the  coming  of  light  and  the  blooming 
of  the  rose  of  the  morning,  he  resolved  to  ride  directly 
to  Barnett's.  "My  errand  is  an  honorable  one,"  he 
argued.  "Why  should  I  sneak  into  cover?" 
21  321 


Hesper 

No  one  was  astir  as  he  rode  into  the  Barnett  yard — 
no  one  save  the  hostler,  who  received  him  with  beam 
ing  countenance  and  a  word  of  inquiry  about  the  strike. 

"'It's  still  on,  Johnson." 

"Is  it  true  that  they  have  the  ground  all  planted 
thick  with  bombs?" 

"I  haven't  seen  any  such  planting." 

The  housemaid  who  let  him  into  the  house  also 
smiled  upon  him  in  a  most  friendly  fashion.  "We're 
glad  to  see  you,  sir.  Shall  I  tell  Mr.  Barnett  you  are 
here?" 

' '  I  wish  you  would ;  and  tell  him  I  wish  no  one  but 
himself  to  know  of  my  presence." 

"I  understand,  sir." 

The  beauty  of  the  Barnett  home  smote  upon  him 
freshly  and  with  great  power  as  he  crouched  in  a  big 
chair  before  the  fire,  absorbing  needed  heat.  He  was 
chill  and  stiff  with  his  long  ride,  and  the  delicious 
warmth,  the  harmonious  colors,  the  repose  of  that 
room,  with  its  calls  to  reading  and  meditation,  laid 
hold  upon  him  mightily.  "I  will  have  a  library  like 
this,"  he  said,  "and  I  will  use  it,  too.  My  books  shall 
be  read." 

He  began  to  understand  how  easy  it  would  be  for 
those  who  dwelt  in  such  homes  to  hate  the  profane, 
purposeless,  gambling  crowds  at  Sky  -  Town.  Seen 
from  the  vantage-ground  of  this  reposeful,  well-ordered 
templenof  literature,  they  were  savages  in  very  deed. 

The  girl  returned  promptly.  "You  may  come  right 
up,  sir.  Mr.  Barnett  will  see  you  in  his  room." 

His  heavy  boots  clamped  loudly  on  the  polished  floor, 
and  he  was  forced  to  tread  the  stairs  on  tiptoe.  The 
foot-wear  of  the  hills  was  as  out  of  place  there  as  a  spade. 

322 


Raymond    Meets    Ann    Again 

Barnett  was  in  bed,  with  a  pot  of  coffee  and  some  toast 
on  a  stand  by  his  side,  reading  the  morning  papers. 

"Hello,  old  man,"  he  called  out,  when  the  door  was 
shut.  "I'm  mighty  glad  to  see  you,  but  I  don't  know 
what  to  do  about  you.  What's  the  row,  anyway? 
Have  you  come  down  to  see  Ann?" 

Raymond  took  a  chair  near  the  bed.  "Not  exactly 
— but  of  course — " 

"I  understand,  and  I  don't  blame  you.  She  came 
back  from  up  there  looking  like  a  rose  of  Sharon. 
Of  course,  you  haven't  had  breakfast.  Have  some 
coffee.  You've  come  on  something  important,  but 
let's  get  some  hot  coffee  into  our  blood  the  first  off; 
we  can  think  better.  Touch  that  bell  for  me  and 
we'll  have  something  heartier." 

"How  is  Mrs.  Barnett?" 

"Never  better.  I've  got  her  locked  in  there" — 
he  pointed  at  an  inner  door — "I  had  an  idea  you 
were  coming  with  important  news  from  the  front. 
I  don't  know  about  your  being  here;  the  people  have 
got  you  mixed  up  with  Munro  in  this  thing,  and  I've 
had  the  devil's  own  job  to  convince  them  otherwise. 
I'm  not  a  bit  sure  they  won't  want  to  arrest  you  and 
hold  you  as  a  hostage." 

"That  would  be  a  nice  job." 

"Wouldn't  it?  But  they've  lost  their  heads  com 
pletely.  You  see,  these  '  red  -  neckers '  hit  us  on  a 
weak  spot  —  they  broke  loose  just  as  we  were  trying 
to  float  our  biggest  issue  of  stock,  and  flattened  out 
every  deal  till  it  looks  like  a  square  yard  of  nothing. 
Naturally,  we're  all  red-headed  as  woodpeckers,  and 
we're  going  to  open  these  mines;  we've  got  to  open 
them  or  go  broke." 

323 


Hesper 

Raymond's  eyes  twinkled  a  little.  "That  sounds 
rather  farcical  from  one  lolling  in  Babylonian  luxury. 
You  should  come  up  and  see  how  we  '  red-neckers ' 
live.  There's  horny-handed  toil  for  you.  It's  a  good 
thing  Brock  and  Munro  can't  see  you  now." 

Barnett's  reply  was  a  shout  to  the  girl  who  knocked. 
"Christine,  bring  a  good,  big  steak  as  quickly  as  pos 
sible,  and  a  fresh  pot  of  coffee."  He  turned  to  Ray 
mond:  "I'll  make  you  share  my  comfort — I  don't  call 
this  luxury.  By -the -way,  when  did  you  come  to 
town?" 

"This  minute." 

"Ride!  In  this  storm!"  He  rose  on  his  elbow  to 
survey  him.  "Great  Scot,  man,  throw  off  those 
horrible  boots  and  put  on  some  dry  socks  and  some 
slippers!  Tumble  the  things  out  of  that  bottom 
drawer;  you'll  find  all  kinds  there." 

In  the  end  he  had  his  way,  and  so,  in  warm,  dry 
foot-wear  and  a  smoking-jacket,  the  young  miner  ate 
his  steak  and  drank  his  coffee  while  his  host  looked  on 
and  commented  on  his  looks. 

"You've  taken  a  hand  to  the  plough,  haven't  you? 
That  fist  is  a  wonder.  And  you've  really  struck  it? 
Well,  I'm  glad  of  it.  But  you  want  to  watch  Curran; 
I'm  told  he's  been  to  every  lawyer  in  town  with  your 
papers,  in  the  attempt  to  break  your  grip  on  that  vein." 

"We  are  not  worrying,"  replied  Raymond. 

When  he  had  quite  finished,  Barnett  said,  "Well, 
now,  Rob,  what  about  it?" 

Raymond  was  equally  direct.  "I'm  here  to  try 
to  persuade  you  not  to  send  the  sheriff  and  his  men 
up  the  canon." 

"Whom  do  you  represent— the  union?" 
324 


Raymond    Meets    Ann    Again 

"  In  a  way,  yes.  I  have  a  letter  to  you,  and  I  come 
on  behalf  of  the  independents,  who  don't  want  to 
see  bloodshed.  There'll  be  a  horrible  mix-up,  Don — 
sure  thing — unless  your  fellows  are  headed  off.  Mun- 
ro's  cow-boys  and  desperadoes  will  fight — don't  make 
any  mistake  about  that;  and  he's  got  the  larger  part 
of  the  whole  camp  behind  him  when  it  comes  to  're 
pelling  invaders,'  as  they  call  your  folks." 

"Who  is  this  man  Munro?" 

Raymond  looked  at  his  friend  steadily.  "Don, 
the  time  has  come  to  tell  you  something;  but  it's  a 
secret!"  His  voice  ended  in  a  rising  inflection.  "It 
concerns  only  you  and  me — for  the  present." 

Barnett  reached  his  hand.     "All  right,  old  man." 

"Munro  is  really  Jackson  Hollenbeck.  We  were 
classmates  and  room-mates  at  West  Point." 

"What!"  Barnett  started  up.  "West  Point! 
Were  you  at  West  Point?  How  does  it  happen? 
You  didn't  graduate?" 

"I  did  not.  Do  you  remember  reading,  some  eight 
or  nine  years  ago,  of  a  group  of  six  cadets  being  dis 
missed  for  hazing  and  insubordination?  I  don't  sup 
pose  you  do,  but  I  was  one  of  that  gang.  Jack  was 
another.  We  weren't  so  bad  as  we  were  represented, 
but  they  fired  us  all  the  same.  I  lost  all  track  of 
Hollie,  as  we  called  him  then." 

"  So  that's  where  Munro  gets  his  military  training — 
and  his  real  name  is  Hollenbeck.'*  He  smiled  slyly. 
"What's  yours?" 

"Oh,  mine  is  straight.  I  never  tried  to  conceal 
my  identity.  I'm  Robert  Huston  Raymond,  of  Ohio, 
the  man  that  'swatted'  his  superior  and  got  'busted* 
for  it.  Since  then  I've  lived  a  commonplace  life.'* 

325 


Hesper 

"What  was  it  all  about?  I  never  asked  any  ques 
tions  before,  but  I'd  like  to  know  all  about  it." 

"That's  about  all  of  it.  I  was  a  restless  young 
cub  and  hated  the  discipline;  but  that's  of  no  value. 
What  is  important  is  this  —  Jack  Munro's  military 
training  is  being  felt.  Now  you  mustn't  ask  me  a 
single  question  as  to  conditions  up  there.  I'm  going 
back,  and  I  must  be  able  to  say  to  Jack  that  I  was 
faithful  to  my  trust.  If  the  sheriff  will  go  back  with 
me,  alone,  I  believe  I  can  get  Jack  to  deliver  the  men 
that  blew  up  the  mine.  Then  if  the  Red  Star  people — 
you,  in  fact — will  deal  with  the  men  fairly,  I  think  the 
whole  situation  will  clear." 

"I  don't  share  your  optimism.  Those  jackasses 
must  be  whipped  before  they  will  yield  a  point. 
They'd  kill  you  and  the  sheriff  both." 

"I  don't  think  so.  I  know  Jack  will  protect  us. 
He  practically  controls  the  camp  at  this  minute.  I 
have  the  countersign  and  can  pass  the  patrol  at  any 
time  to-day,  and  the  sheriff,  if  he  has  the  nerve,  can 
ride  with  me  straight  to  Jack's  headquarters.  Then 
I  want  you  to  meet  some  of  the  head  men  and  ar 
range  a  new  scale." 

To  this  Barnett  would  not  listen.  "Once  you 
admit  that  these  men  can  dictate  terms,  and  where 
will  their  demands  stop?" 

Raymond  spoke  with  some  heat.  "What  I  com 
plain  of  is  that  you  Red  Star  people  are  interfering 
with  my  business.  You  have  inflamed  the  camp 
till  I  may  be  obliged  to  shut  down  at  any  moment. 
You  have  been  unreasonable  in  treating  with  your 
men.  It  isn't  so  much  a  question  of  wages,  it's  a 
question  of  courtesy  and  decent  regard  for  your  fel- 

326 


Raymond    Meets    Ann    Again 

lows.  Mackay  was  no  man  to  make  an  issue  of. 
He  was,  in  fact,  a  conceited  ass,  and  you  know  it. 
Kelly  could  have  inaugurated  your  new  system,  and 
I  think  I  could;  but  Mackay— the  very  walk  of  the 
man  was  an  offence.  His  style  of  trousers  would 
incite  murder." 

"  He's  one  of  the  ablest  men  in  the  West." 

"Able,  but  rank.  Now,  Barnett,  you  must  'back 
water'  here.  The  camp  is  in  a  bad  temper,  and  you 
can't  cure  violence  with  violence." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  said  Barnett,  on 
sudden  impulse,  moved  by  Raymond's  sincerity, 
"I'll  call  a  meeting  here  of  the  sheriff,  the  mayor, 
and  one  or  two  others,  and  we'll  talk  this  over." 

"All  right,  only  you  must  keep  my  presence  here 
a  secret  and  be  mighty  careful  not  to  put  me  in  a 
false  position." 

"I'll  take  care  of  you."  As  he  rose  he  added:  "You 
lie  down  for  a  while  and  rest  while  I  collect  my  men. 
Follow  me  and  I'll  bestow  you." 

Raymond  followed  slowly  and  rolled  into  his  de 
licious  bed  with  a  sigh  of  deep  pleasure. 

When  he  woke,  Don  was  standing  over  him  smiling. 
"The  council  is  on.  Dress  and  come  down  to  the 
library.  I  was  right  about  the  indignant  citizens ;  they 
were  all  for  arresting  you.  They  understand  that  you 
are  a  pal  of  this  man  Munro,  and  I  was  obliged  to  put 
forth  all  my  influence  to  save  you." 

This  did  not  appeal  to  Raymond's  sense  of  humor. 
"  It's  just  that  blind  sort  of  bucking  at  the  wrong  min 
ute  that  tangles  things  up.  Munro  is  the  one  regula 
tive  force  up  there,  and  yet  you  fellows  want  to  kill 
him  off." 

327 


Hesper 

"Save  your  eloquence  for  the  committee;  you'll  need 
it. 

As  Raymond  stepped  out  into  the  hall,  Ann  met  him. 
"Good-morning,"  she  said,  and  her  fine  hand  closed 
strongly  on  his.  "Don  has  told  me  of  your  mission.  I 
hope  you'll  succeed."  She  turned  to  Barnett.  "Do 
you  know  where  Louis  is?" 

"No.  Haven't  you  seen  him  this  morning?" 
"No;  and  I'm  afraid  he  has  gone  back  to  Sky-Town. 
The  hostler  said  he  took  his  pony  and  rode  away  about 
eight  o'clock."  Her  anxiety  for  her  brother  showed 
in  the  otherwise  clear  serenity  of  her  eyes  like  a  cloud 
in  a  summer  sky. 

"  I  am  afraid  to  have  him  there  when  you  are  away," 
she  said  to  Raymond. 

Barnett  moved  on,  leaving  them  alone. 

Raymond  hastened  to  reassure  her.  "I  am  going 
back  to-day— to-night.  Matt  will  take  charge  of  him 
till  I  return.  You  must  not  return  to  the  camp — at 
least,  not  while  this  invasion  threatens.  The  turmoil 
is  deepening  up  there." 

Her  concern  augmented.     "Is  it  so  serious?" 

"If  these  deputies  move  on  the  camp  they  will  be 
shot  down." 

"Oh,  these  wild  Western  people!" 

"Gun-play  isn't  confined  to  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
I  can  remember  the  riots  in  Pennsylvania." 

"That  seems  different." 

"It  isn't.  Wherever  men  reach  a  certain  pitch  of 
rage  or  desperation  they  shoot." 

"Can  you  keep  Louis  out  of  it?" 

"I  think  so." 

"You  must  be  sure,  or  I  will  go  back.     I  could 
328 


Raymond    Meets    Ann    Again 

keep  him  out  of  it  to  take  care  of  me.     Is  Mrs.  Kelly 
afraid?" 

"  Not  a  bit.  I  tried  to  induce  her  to  come  down  here, 
but  she  refuses  to  make  any  change  in  her  life.  Even 
if  the  invaders  storm  the  fort  the  Kelly  household  is 
out  of  range." 

"They  really  have  a  fort,  then?" 
"I  shouldn't  have  said  fort;  I  meant  the  hill." 
"You  said  fort." 

"I  am  here  as  a  messenger  of  peace,  not  to  betray 
military  secrets,"  he  replied,  with  a  smile  in  his  eyes. 
"And  I  must  be  careful  even  with  you." 
"What  do  you  hope  to  do?" 

"  I  hope  to  persuade  the  authorities  here  not  to  send 
these  deputies  up  the  canon.     I  want  to  arrange  ^an 
armistice— that  is,  a  wait  of  a  couple  of  weeks  in  which 
to  meet  and  consider  ways  and  means." 
"Your  military  training  is  coming  out." 
"I  permit  it  to  show  in  talking  with  you." 
"Does  anybody  else  know?" 
"I  told  Don  this  morning." 

She   checked   herself.     "You  must   go.     They   are 
waiting  for  you  below.    We  will  see  you  at  luncheon?" 
"Yes,  I  may  not  start  till  dark  to-night." 
"You  have  my  best  wishes." 

He  went  down  the  stairs  with  her  last  words  linger 
ing  in  his  ears  like  song.  She  was  very  moving  when 
she  permitted  herself  to  be  gentle. 

The  men  assembled  in  the  library  were  a  grim  lot. 
Mackay  was  no  less  square-jawed  than  Banker  Moore, 
and  the  squat,  coarse-featured,  scowling  sheriff  resem 
bled  a  bull-dog.  Don  Barnett  alone  seemed  not  a  part 
of  the  general  massing  of  prejudice  and  passion,  and  yet 

329 


Hesper 

he  was  one  of  the  most  pitiless  of  them  all.  The  mayor, 
a  large  man  with  a  plump  and  smiling  face,  seemed  the 
one  man  likely  to  side  with  a  peace  messenger.  The 
secretary  to  the  committee  was  a  tall  young  Swede,  or 
Dane,  with  a  most  unexpected  vein  of  humor.  He 
was  called  "  Baron,"  whether  in  joke  or  in  earnest  Ray 
mond  could  not  determine. 

After  general  introductions  Raymond  took  a  seat, 
and  at  Don's  request  reiterated  his  appeal  for  a  stay  of 
the  advancing  hordes. 

"You  think  they'll  fight?"  asked  the  mayor. 
"I  know  they'll  fight." 

"How  many  men  does  this  man  Munro — " 
Raymond  raised  a  warning  hand.  "  Now,  your  hon 
or,  and  gentlemen,  I  am  here  merely  as  a  peace  en 
voy.  I  do  not  intend  to  utter  one  word  which  could 
by  any  force  be  twisted  into  revealing  the  camp  secrets. 
If  I  betrayed  these  men  my  life  wouldn't  be  worth  a 
toothpick.  They  would  quite  properly  mob  me." 

The  mayor  smiled  as  if  it  were  all  a  j  oke .  "  Quite  right , 
Mr.  Raymond.  I  see  the  propriety  of  your  attitude." 
"  I  don't,"  said  Mackay.  "  Raymond  and  Kelly  have 
elected  themselves  into  on-lookers.  If  they  had  taken 
prompt  action  with  us  in  this  whole  matter  trouble 
would  have  been  averted." 

Raymond  looked  at  him  with  a  glance  that  did  not 
waver.  "We  did  not  take  action  with  you  because 
your  ways  were  foolish,"  he  coldly  replied. 

The  mayor  resumed  his  questions.     "Who  sent  you? 
Whom  do  you  represent?" 
"Munro  sent  me." 
"Who  is  Munro?" 

"He  is  the  adviser  of  the  president  of  the  union." 
330 


Raymond    Meets    Ann    Again 

"  He's  the  'whole  thing,'  isn't  he?"  asked  the  mayor. 

"That  I  cannot  answer.  He  has  the  confidence  of 
the  committee." 

"  I  don't  suppose  it  will  do  any  good  to  ask  about  the 
buried  dynamite  and  the  fortifications  on  the  hill?" 

"None  whatever." 

"Then  what  did  you  hope  to  accomplish?" 

Raymond  fired  a  little.  "I  came  here  to  tell  you 
that  if  you  think  you  can  overawe  this  camp  with  a 
thousand  men  or  two  thousand  men  you  are  mis 
taken.  Since  this  trouble  began  hundreds  of  the 
most  reckless  and  dangerous  characters  in  the  West 
have  flocked  to  Sky  in  support  of  the  miners;  these 
recruits  are  accustomed  to  the  sound  of  guns.  Fur 
thermore,  Bozle  itself — in  fact,  the  whole  western  end 
of  the  county — is  tired  of  the  domination  of  the  east 
ern  end,  and  they  will  aid  and  abet  the  miners.  Your 
party  is  in  a  minority  in  the  State,  and  you  cannot 
safely  look  for  support  to  the  militia;  therefore,  for 
all  these  reasons,  and  because  I  know  Munro  and  his 
men,  I  advise,  I  plead  with  you  to  stay  where  you 
are.  There  is  one  other  consideration:  The  party 
which  I  represent — the  free  miners  and  prospectors, 
like  Kelly  and  Bingham  and  Reese — have  stood  aside 
from  this  quarrel.  We  have  had  no  share  in  it.  We 
have  kept  our  men  out  of  it ;  but  if  you  march  against 
the  hill  many  of  our  fellows  will  join  Munro;  and  I 
want  to  tell  you,  gentlemen,  that  one  of  these  free 
miners — these  rangers  of  the  hills — is  more  danger 
ous  than  twenty  little  Dagoes.  A  hundred  of  them 
would  stand  off  five  hundred  of  your  men.  Some  of 
you  know  the  West — you  know  the  kind  of  men  these 
prospectors  are.  They  are  armed,  every  one  of  them, 


Hesper 

with  the  best  guns  that  the  market  affords;  they  will 
not  go  out  with  mops  and  sledge-hammers.  You  are 
crazy  to  lead  men  up  against  a  camp  of  this  kind." 

The  sheriff  sneered.  "You  don't  seem  to  realize 
that  we  have  a  few  good  guns  ourselves." 

"Yes,  only  your  men  are  hired  to  do  their  work. 
What  is  the  history  of  the  hired  soldiers  of  all  time? 
They  failed  when  sent  against  men  fighting  from  a 
sense  of  duty  or  in  defence  of  their  homes." 

"This  case  looks  like  a  lot  of  hoodlums  defending 
their  saloons,"  said  Don. 

"Well,  I'll  admit  there  isn't  the  same  sublimity  of 
sentiment  that  we  found  in  the  men  of  Thermopylae, 
but  all  the  same  the  sense  of  wrong  is  strong  enough 
to  make  them  all  unite  against  you  and  fight  like 
demons." 

His  deep  earnestness  impressed  them  all,  and  a  si 
lence  followed  his  last  words.  At  last  Don  said: 

"Gentlemen,  Raymond  is  not  merely  an  acquaint 
ance,  he  was  in  my  employ  for  some  years,  and  he 
is  my  friend.  I  am  forced  to  give  his  words  great 
weight.  I  suggest  that  we  try  to  arrange  a  meeting 
between  the  miners  a»nd  ourselves  and  the  Governor 
and  reach  some  peaceful  solution." 

The  sheriff  leaped  to  his  feet.  "That  would  make 
us  the  laughing-stock  of  the  whole  country." 

"Better  be  that  than  a  melancholy  example  of 
foolish  pride  and  obstinacy,"  Raymond  interjected. 

At  this  point  the  argument  stuck.  Mackay,  the 
county  attorney,  and  the  sheriff  stood  for  war;  the 
mayor  and  Barnett,  being  for  the  moment  under  the 
power  of  Raymond's  earnest  glance,  pleaded  rather 
spiritlessly  for  at  least  a  stay  in  proceedings. 

332 


Raymond    Meets    Ann    Again 

The  mayor  suggested  calling  a  larger  meeting  for 
Raymond  to  address,  but  to  this  he  made  instant 
objection.  "If  I  cannot  convince  you  of  the  folly 
of  assaulting  the  peak,  I  cannot  convince  a  conven 
tion  of  citizens.  You  have  the  power  to  call  a  halt. 
If  you  decide  to  go  on  you  must  assume  the  responsi 
bility." 

"I  think  it  all  a  ruse  to  gain  time,"  sa;d  Mackay. 
"I  think  we  ought  to  hold  this  man  here  and  march 
at  once.  He  is  known  to  be  a  friend  of  Munro.  If 
we  allow  him  to  go  back  he  will  inform — " 

"Rats!"  cried  Barnett.  "What  could  he  inform 
about?" 

Raymond  smiled  grimly.  "My  services  as  a  spy 
are  not  needed.  Every  movement  you  make  will 
be  watched  by  a  hundred  eyes,  and  back  of  the  eyes 
will  be  a  gun." 

The  mayor  rose.  "Well,  gentlemen,  I  don't  see 
that  we  can  decide  anything  here.  We  have  Mr. 
Raymond's  opinion  that  our  attack  on  the  hill  will 
result  in  disaster.  The  sheriff  is  confident  he  can 
win  practically  without  a  struggle.  This  is  no  place 
to  take  a  vote  on  so  momentous  a  subject — "  Here 
he  looked  at  his  watch.  "And  it  is  lunch-time.  I 
suggest  that  we  go  to  lunch  and  meet  at  three  o'clock 
in  the  committee-room." 

They  filed  out  quite  promptly,  only  the  mayor 
having  the  grace  to  thank  Raymond  for  his  efforts 
at  peace-making. 

After  they  were  well  out  of  the  house  Barnett  said, 
"You  see  how  it  is,  they  are  inexorable." 

"I  see  that  Mackay  and  the  sheriff  are  letting  their 
own  poor,  little,  personal  vanities  rule  their  actions 

333 


Hesper 

towards  a  mighty  serious  matter.  Mackay's  pride 
is  hurt;  he  was  kicked  and  bruised.  The  sheriff  has 
been  humiliated,  therefore  he  wishes  to  be  revenged. 
I'm  done.  If  they  want  to  go  up  against  those  gun- 
experts  on  the  hill  they  have  my  full  permission. 
When  they  get  back  there  will  be  bells  tolling  in  this 
burgh.  It's  cold  up  there;  the  snow  is  deep.  These 
men  are  not  accustomed  to  camping — why,  it's  suicide 
— sheer,  foolish  self-destruction!" 

"May  I  come  in?"  asked  Mrs.  Barnett  at  the  door. 
"Luncheon  is  waiting." 

"Certainly,"  said  Don.     "The  council  is  over." 

"You  were  all  very  quiet.  I  expected  to  hear  loud 
voices  and  the  sound  of  blows."  She  came  towards 
Raymond,  her  face  sweet  with  kindly  interest.  "How 
do  you  do,  Robert?  It's  good  to  see  you;  how  well 
you  look!" 

The  sight  of  her  kind  face  filled  the  strong  young 
fellow  with  memories  of  her  goodness  to  him,  and 
a  sense  of  guilt  robbed  his  tongue  of  its  wonted  readi 
ness.  "I  hope  you  haven't —  I  know  I  should  have 
been  down;  but,  as  I  wrote  you,  I  have  been  busy — " 

She  stopped  him.  "We  will  accept  your  apologies 
for  the  moment  and  go  out  to  luncheon,  which  is 
getting  cold."  As  they  moved  towards  the  door  she 
added,  in  a  low  voice,  "I  want  to  talk  with  you  about 
— you  know  who." 

She  put  him  at  her  left  hand  and  Ann  next  him, 
an  arrangement  which  pleased  him.  The  table  was 
filled,  as  usual,  with  people  "on  their  way  to  Cali 
fornia,"  and  Raymond  felt  himself  to  be  the  object 
of  comment  both  above  and  below  board,  and  it  irri 
tated  him  a  little. 

334 


Raymond    Meets    Ann    Again 

"This  is  a  long  way  from  Sky,"  he  said  to  Ann,  as 
his  eyes  absorbed  the  shining,  flower -decked  table 
and  its  tasteful  service.  "You  left  just  in  time;  it  is 
white  with  snow  up  there  to-day,  and  bleak  and  cold." 

"The  peaks  were  hid  all  day  yesterday.  I  shuddered 
to  think  what  might  be  going  on  beneath  those  clouds, 
and  now  I'm  afraid  Louis  has  gone  back  into  them." 

"Have  you  had  no  word  of  him?" 

"  No  news  whatever.  I  am  sure  he  is  on  his  way  up 
to  you." 

"I  am  starting  back  at  once,  and  I  will  take  care  of 
him.  Trust  him  to  me." 

"I  am  very  grateful  to  you,"  she  answered,  and  her 
eyes  spoke  more  eloquently  than  her  tongue.  "Your 
influence  over  him  is  wonderful.  He  talks  of  you  con 
stantly,  and  I  feel  that  you  have  helped  him  in  every 
way." 

His  face  flushed  with  pleasure.  "  I  fear  I  am  a  poor 
companion  for  such  a  boy.  I  would  not  like  to  be 
taken  as  a  model  for  any  human  being." 

Her  eyes  were  enigmatical  as  she  replied:  "I  have 
come  to  think  your  influence  more  valuable  to  him  than 
mine.  He  is  approaching  manhood.  He  must  learn 
of  manly  things  by  contact  with  life,  and  it  is  a  deep 
satisfaction  to  me  to  know  that  you  are  interested  in 
him." 

"I  love  the  lad." 

"I  know  you  do,"  she  answered,  with  a  tender  and 
musing  voice,  "and  he  is  worthy  of  it.  There  is  no  evil 
in  his  thought.  I  intended  to  say  these  things  to  you 
before  I  came  away" — a  gleam  of  humor  came  into 
her  eyes — "but  Mr.  Peabody  intervened;  and  then  you 
didn't  come  to  see  me  off." 

335 


Hesper 

He  looked  at  his  fork  critically.  "I  am  not  very 
brave  about  some  things.  I  hate — I  dread  '  good-byes.' 
I  simply  couldn't  see  you  go  away.  It  was,  or  seemed 
to  be,  final." 

"What  made  you  think  it  final?"  She  was  looking 
at  him  with  an  amused  side  glance.  "What  reason 
had  you?" 

He  rose  to  her  humorous  challenge.  "There  was  a 
good  reason — a  bulky  and  convincing  reason." 

"What  is  the  old  saw  about  jumping  at  conclusions?" 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know;  but  your  going  was  too 
painful  for  me  to  witness.  I  preferred  to  seem  boor 
ish — " 

Mrs.  Barnett  here  interposed.  "Will  you  have  tea 
or  chocolate,  Ann  Marie?"  and  something  hidden  in 
her  tone  appeared  in  her  eyes,  and  Ann  faintly  colored. 

"Tea,  please,"  she  said;  and  in  this  answer  uttered  a 
defiant  word.  Mrs.  Barnett's  glance  seemed  to  say, 
"Oh,  very  well,  if  you  want  to  monopolize  him,  do  it; 
but,  remember,  I  have  some  rights." 

Raymond,  receiving  a  covert  signal  from  Ann,  turned 
to  his  hostess.  "It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  sit  at  your 
beautiful  table  again." 

"After  so  long  a  time.     Why  didn't  you  say  that?" 

"I  acknowledge  my  guilt;  but  you  know  why — I 
wrote  you — and  now  I  am  in  pursuit  of  gold.  I  am  a 
man  transformed.  I  am  as  hot  after  money  now  as  I 
used  to  be  careless  and  slothful.  I  have  an  aim  in  life." 

"Ann  has  told  me  something  of  your  story,  and  so 
has  Don.  Why  am  I  left  out?  Am  I  not  worthy  of 
confidence?" 

"All  confidence;  but  I  have  not  seen  you  since  my 
confessions  began." 

336 


Raymond    Meets    Ann    Again 

"  I  knew  your  people  were  nice — blood  tells.  I  wish 
I  could  see  the  old  father  when  his  rich  son  drives  up  to 
the  door  in  a  ta1ly-ho." 

He  was  boyishly  abashed.  "I  fear  Ann  has  been 
laughing  at  me.  I  don't  believe  I  like  that." 

He  was  a  little  hurt  and  she  saw  it.  "Ann  was 
really  very  nice  about  it,  and  she  told  me  very  little.  I 
guessed  at  the  rest.  By-the-way,  the  big  lawyer  left 
very  suddenly  the  other  morning,  and  was  not  a  bit 
cheerful." 

"Indeed!     Are  you  trying  to  tell  me  something?" 

"I  have  told  it." 

"Then  tell  me  one  more  thing."  He  was  eager  and 
bold  at  this  moment. 

"I  can't  do  that,  Rob.  No  one  can.  The  person 
doesn't  know  her  own  mind  yet." 

Ann's  voice  sweetly  interposed.  "You  shouldn't 
talk  in  riddles  in  the  hearing  of  guests,  especially  when 
one  of  them  has  the  key  to  the  riddle." 

Jeannette  laughed,  but  was  reproved.  "I  thought 
you  were  listening  to  Don." 

"I  was,  but  I  have  two  ears." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — "  Raymond  began. 

"Oh,  it  was  not  your  fault.  I  will  settle  with  the 
real  mischief-maker  after  lunch." 

"  Ann  Marie,  turn  your  deaf  ear  this  way.  I've  only 
this  chance  to  talk  with  Rob,  and  I'm  not  going  to  let 
you  interfere."  And  she  boldly  went  on:  "I'm  glad 
your  ambition  is  soaring,  Rob.  Why,  you  have  every 
thing  before  you.  What  business  has  a  handsome, 
young,  and  successful  man  to  humble  himself  before  any 
woman?" 

"  I  confess  to  the  first  two  counts  in  the  indictment," 
**  337 


Hesper 

he  answered,  with  some  humor  in  his  voice.  "But  as 
to  the  third,  I  plead  not  guilty." 

"  But  it  is  reported  that  you  have  discovered  a  moun 
tain  of  gold." 

"There  was  a  moment  when  it  seemed  all  that  to  me. 
Now  I  am  in  doubt  whether  it  will  pay  expenses." 

Don  was  talking  in  a  loud  voice  to  a  rather  deaf  old 
professor  who  had  been  lecturing  on  the  subject  of 
peaches  and  how  to  preserve  them,  and  under  cover  of 
this  thundering  to  and  fro  Raymond  hoped  to  continue 
his  conversation  with  Ann;  but  the  learned  man  from 
the  East,  fixing  his  keen  eyes  on  the  miner,  began  to 
inquire  what  the  men  of  the  peak  meant  by  their  dis 
regard  of  law  and  order;  and  when  Raymond  evaded 
this  question,  the  old  man  started  in  on  a  discourse  con 
cerning  the  rights  of  capital  to  employ  labor  in  its  own 
way,  and  so  the  golden  minutes  were  wasted. 

When  at  last  the  hostess  rose,  the  young  miner's 
heart  contracted  with  a  sudden  realization  that  his 
hour  of  grace  was  over,  and  that  the  time  had  come  for 
his  return  to  the  stern  realities  of  life.  His  cabin,  the 
snow-covered  peaks,  the  mines,  and  the  strikers — all  his 
perplexities  came  rushing  back,  and  the  beautiful  din 
ing-room,  the  ministrations  of  his  hostess,  and  his  deli 
cious  moment  with  Ann  began  to  recede. 

In  the  hall  he  extended  his  hand  in  fixed  resolution 
to  Mrs.  Barnett. 

"Good-bye.  It's  hard  to  leave  you  and  this  glorious 
home — " 

"Must  you  go  to-day?" 

"Yes.  I  must  hurry  back.  Kelly  needs  me;  and 
then  there  is  Louis." 

"Well,  if  you  must —     But  do  come  again,  Rob. 

338 


Raymond    Meets    Ann    Again 

Don't  mind  who  is  here;  come  to  see  us.  It  is  always 
good  to  have  you  here." 

The  young  man's  eyes  blurred  a  little.  "  I  wish  you 
knew  how  much  you  mean  to  me,"  he  said.  "Now 
that  I  am  cut  off  from  my  own  sister  and  my  mother." 

"I  hope  you  won't  be  long.  I  think  you  should  go 
straight  to  them — at  once." 

"As  soon  as  this  strike  is  over  I  will  do  so,"  he  said, 
very  earnestly. 

Don  followed  him  to  his  room,  and  while  resuming 
his  big  boots  Raymond  said,  "Don't  let  that  sheriff  head 
me  off;  keep  him  for  a  couple  of  hours  and  I'll  be  out 
of  his  reach." 

"Don't  worry  about  the  sheriff,  old  man, and  throw 
your  whole  weight  against  Munro's  policy  of  resist 
ance." 

"I've  done  that  from  the  first." 

"I  know  you  have,  and  some  of  the  fellows  know  it 
and  respect  you  for  it.  They  aren't  all  like  the  crowd 
to-day." 

Ann  was  waiting  to  see  him  as  he  came  out  into  the 
upper  hall.  It  was  her  first  deliberate  motion  towards 
him;  but  her  face  gave  him  no  hint  of  her  quickened 
pulses  as  she  said:  "Give  Nora  my  love,  and  greet 
grand  old  Matt  for  me,  won't  you?  I  feel  as  if  I  ought 
to  go  back — " 

"You  must  not,  much  as  we  all  need  you.  This  is 
no  time  for  you  to  be  there.  I  wish  Nora  would  come 
down — " 

' '  I  wish  she  would ;  and  please  let  me  know  instantly 
that  Louis  is  safe  with  you." 

"I  will  do  so.     When  do  you  go  East?" 

"Not  till  spring." 

339 


Hesper 

"Then  I  may  see  you  again."  His  words  formed  a 
declaration  as  well  as  a  question,  and  his  glance  meant 
more  than  his  tone. 

Her  eyes  fell.  "Perhaps."  And  she  added,  with 
an  upward  glance,  "If  you  visit  us  soon." 

"That  I  will  do.     Good-bye." 

"Good-bye,  and  please  don't  be  reckless." 

Jeannette  followed  him  out  upon  the  porch.  "What 
have  you  been  saying  to  Ann  up  there  on  the  moun 
tain-top?  I  never  saw  such  a  change  in  a  girl  in  my 
life.  It  is  incredible.  She  is  in  superb  health,  but  that 
isn't  what  I  mean.  She  is  so  different  in  her  manner. 
I  believe  she  is  in  love  with  you,  Rob." 

A  fire  glowed  an  instant  in  his  eyes,  then  faded.  "  No, 
you  are  mistaken.  I  think  she  likes  me  and  trusts  me, 
but  nothing  further." 

By  this  she  knew  he  had  spoken.  "  My  advice  is  an 
old  one,  Rob;  don't  take  the  first  no  for  an  answer." 

The  air  was  balmy  and  the  sky  bright  as  he  rode 
away  towards  the  peaks  round  which  the  most  por 
tentous  clouds  were  still  rolling  in  stately  blue  masses. 


XXIII 
Louis    Calls    for    Ann 

RAYMOND  looked  back  occasionally,  half  expect 
ing  pursuit.  He  could  see  in  the  valley  below 
the  town  the  gleaming  white  tents  of  the  little  army 
hesitant  to  march,  and  its  plan  of  invasion  seemed 
born  of  folly  and  madness.  Then,  lifting  his  face  to 
the  great,  glittering  peak,  he  recalled  a  line  from  a 
poet,  wherein  a  mountain  asks,  with  scornful  pity, 
"Why  so  hot,  my  little, man?" 

The  sun  was  low,  half  hid  behind  the  Hesperean  wall, 
as  he  topped  the  divide,  and  the  young  miner  caught 
his  breath  with  joy  of  the  scene,  profoundly  regretting 
that  Ann  could  not  have  been  by  his  side.  It  was  an 
overpowering  spread  of  earth,  richly  glowing  with  yellow 
and  purple  and  deep  blue,  a  vast,  crumpled  sweep  of 
lesser  hills  rising  to  the  golden-haloed,  pale-violet,  ser 
rate  line  of  high  peaks  to  the  west.  Almost  beneath 
him  lay  Sky-Town  and  Bozle,  their  houses  mere  flecks, 
their  teams  slow-paced  beetles,  their  footmen  midgets. 

With  a  last  deep  inspiration  of  its  beauty,  he  spurred 
his  horse  down  the  trail  to  meet  the  night  which  rose 
to  meet  him  from  the  valley  like  a  chill,  engulfing  flood. 
An  hour's  brisk  ride  brought  him  to  the  open,  and  just 
at  the  edge  of  the  peak  he  came  upon  a  forlorn  camp,  a 
small  tent  under  a  fir,  and  a  group  of  four  men  sitting 

34i 


Hesper 

about  a  fire.  At  their  call  he  turned  and  rode  up  to 
them.  They  were  an  outpost  of  Munro's  guard,  a  part 
of  the  cordon  he  had  thrown  round  the  peak  and  camp. 

One  of  them  knew  him,  and,  greeting  him  pleasantly, 
asked  where  he  had  been. 

He  replied,  with  candor,  "I've  been  down  to  the 
Springs  to  induce  those  '  yaller-legs '  to  put  off  their 
expedition." 

"What  luck  did  ye  have?" 

"None.     They're  coming." 

The  other  men  left  the  fire  and  drew  near  with  in 
credulous  oaths. 

"You  don't  mean  it!" 

"Sure  thing,"  Raymond  replied. 

Significant  glances  passed  between  them,  and  the  fire 
light  brought  out  stern  lines  on  their  faces.  At  length 
Brown,  the  corporal,  said,  solemnly:  "Well,  if  they 
want  fight,  they  can  have  it.  But  say,  Rob,  does  the 
captain  know  you're  on  the  road?  There  was  a  hulla 
baloo  in  town  about  you  last  night.  A  lot  of  the  fellers 
think  you  went  down  to  give  away  the  camp,  and  some 
said  if  you  ever  came  back  they'd  string  you  up.  Now, 
I  guess  you  better  stay  here  while  I  ride  up  and  tell  the 
cap'  you're  here." 

"I  don't  think  that's  necessary,  but  you  might  jog 
along  with  me  if  you  want  to  go.  Otherwise,  I'll  go 
alone." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  ye,  Rob,"  said  Brown,  in  an  em 
barrassed  way,  "these  monkeys  on  the  peak  have 
got  an  awful  slant  against  you  and  Kelly,  and  they's 
two  or  three  fellers  who  are  working  against  you 
underhand  right  along.  You  don't  want  to  take  no 
chances;  they'll  do  ye  if  they  can." 

342 


Louis    Calls    for    Ann 

Raymond  was  impressed  with  Brown's  earnest 
ness  and  by  the  admirable  loyalty  of  his  fellows 
camped  there  in  the  snow.  "Boys,  what  are  you 
staying  here  for?"  he  asked.  "This  isn't  a  picnic. 
What  do  you  do  it  for?" 

Brown  answered,  "We  do  it  because  we  want  to 
help  these  miners  stand  off  the  'plutes.' " 

"But  it's  none  o'  your  funeral.  Why  don't  you 
let  them  fight  their  own  battles?" 

Brown  shifted  his  quid  in  perplexity.  "Well,  you 
see,  it's  like  this:  these  Dagoes  are  no  good  in  work  of 
this  kind.  They  can't  ride,  or  handle  a  gun — and  then 
we've  got  it  in  for  these  thugs  that's  comin'  up  against 
'em.  We're  down  on  them  yaller-legged  dudes  from 
the  Springs  who  want  to  own  the  earth  and  kick  the 
rest  of  us  off  it.  If  they's  goin'  to  be  a  scrap  we  want 
to  be  on  the  pore  man's  side — that's  about  as  nigh  as 
I  can  come  to  it.  Ain't  that  the  idee,  boys?" 

"That's  about  it,  corporal." 

Raymond  mused.  "But  you're  friendly  towards 
Kelly  and  Raymond?" 

"Sure  thing.  You  fellers  are  all  right.  You've 
punched  cows,  and  Kelly  is  an  old  bronco  -  buster 
himself.  But  let  me  tell  ye  this,  Rob,  we're  goin' 
to  need  you  and  your  men  if  these  chaps  come  up 
here  the  way  they  talk  o'  doin'  —  with  Gatling-guns 
and  all  that.  The  boys  have  been  rollin'  logs  for  a 
fort  all  day.  You  can  just  about  see  it  from  here — 
just  on  that  point." 

"Well,  suppose  we  ride  along,"  said  Raymond, 
and  as  he  took  a  last  look  around  his  heart  warmed 
to  these  rough  souls  who  had  taken  sides  in  a  quar 
rel  not  their  own,  moved  by  a  blind  desire  to  aid 

343 


Hesper 

their  fellows   in    a   war   against   privilege    and   social 
caste. 

Brown  called  another  man  out  of  the  group  to  ride 
with  them,  and  they  started  away.  He  said  to  Ray 
mond,  "I  hope  your  guns  are  all  in  running  order; 
we  may  bunt  up  against  some  of  them  wild -eyed 
cusses  who  want  to  hang  you." 

It  was  deep  night,  keenly  cold  and  very  still  as 
they  climbed  the  hill,  and  once,  as  they  paused  to  give 
their  horses  breath,  a  distant  shouting  reached  their  ears. 

"More  slang-whanging,"  remarked  the  third  man. 

"They's  a  man  a-yellin'  and  poundin'  the  air  from 
a  box  'most  any  time  now,"  said  Brown.  "Oh, 
they're  frothin'  mad  up  there.  I  guess  we'd  better 
make  a  little  side-play  here  and  not  disturb  the  meet- 
in'." 

On  the  hill  east  of  the  town  and  overlooking  the 
valley,  lights  could  be  seen  nickering.  The  corporal 
lifted  his  arm  and  pointed  that  way.  "There  they 
are  building  the  fort." 

Raymond's  blood  began  to  stir,  his  military  in 
struction  to  freshen,  and  for  a  moment,  as  he  paused 
there  in  the  darkness,  he  understood  something  of 
Munro's  joy  in  a  defensive  campaign;  but  he  said 
aloud:  "It's  all  a  mistake,  Brown;  they  can't  afford 
to  fight  the  sheriff.  The  law  is  on  his  side." 

Brown  grimly  replied,  "Well,  we'll  give  him  a  little 
run  for  his  money,  anyway." 

Raymond  smiled  at  the  boyish  quality  of  this  re 
mark,  but  made  no  comment  upon  it,  and  allowed 
himself  to  be  led  by  a  roundabout  path  to  the  west 
side  of  the  town.  At  last  his  guide  paused.  "You're 
all  right  now." 

344 


Louis    Calls    for    Ann 

I  wish  you'd  tell  Jack  I'm  here  and  that  I  want 
to  see  him,"  said  Raymond.  "I'm  much  obliged  to 
you." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  Rob,  take  keer  o'  yerself," 
and  the  two  men  rode  off. 

"Good-luck,  boys." 

As  he  rode  up  to  Kelly's  cabin  and  called  out, 
"Hello,  the  house!"  Matt  opened  the  door,  and,  with 
a  lad  on  either  side  of  him,  peered  out.  "Is  that 
you,  Rob?" 

"The  very  same,  Matt." 

"Well,  now,  wait  a  whist  and  I'll  come  and  put 
out  your  horse." 

Mrs.  Kelly  called,  cheerily:  "Rob,  we're  glad  to  see 
you  safe  returned.  Are  you  hungry?" 

He  slid  from  his  horse.  "I  am  empty  as  a  wolf 
in  March,"  he  replied.  "Where's  Louis?" 

"Louis!  He  hasn't  returned.  Didn't  you  leave  him 
at  the  Springs?" 

"No;  he  left  early  this  morning  and  Ann  thought 
he  had  hit  the  stage-road  for  the  camp.  I  hope  he 
hasn't  gone  wrong." 

This  news  took  away  a  large  part  of  his  pleasure 
in  the  friendly  hearth  to  which  he  was  welcomed, 
and  removing  his  outer  garments  he  bent  to  the  blaze 
in  silence,  while  Mrs.  Kelly  spread  some  food  before 
him. 

Kelly  listened  to  the  news  of  Louis'  disappearance 
with  less  concern.  "He's  run  into  some  of  Munro's 
men  and  is  probably  up  at  headquarters.  He  couldn't 
get  lost — he  knows  the  road.  What's  the  word  from 
the  valley?" 

"They're  comin',  Matt." 
345 


Hesper 

"When?" 

"To-night  or  to-morrow." 

"I've  been  receiving  delegations  and  posters  and 
all  kinds  of  warnin's.  It's  been  a  lively  day  on  the 
hill.  They're  building  a  fort." 

"So  Frank  Brown  told  me.  How  do  our  men 
feel?" 

Matt  rubbed  his  chin.  "They're  a  little  uneasy, 
to  tell  the  truth." 

Mrs.  Kelly  interrupted.  "Sit  up  and  eat,  Rob;  talk 
afterwards." 

Raymond  could  see  that  Kelly  was  disturbed,  and 
that  he  had  something  to  tell  which  he  did  not  care 
to  have  Nora  know.  It  was  plain  that  he  no  longer 
minimized  the  danger,  and  his  face  fell  easily  into 
stern  lines. 

Seizing  the  moment  when  his  wife  left  the  room  to 
put  the  youngsters  to  bed,  the  big  miner  laid  a  sheet 
of  paper  before  his  partner.  "What  do  you  think 
of  that?" 

Raymond  looked  at  the  death's-head  warning,  for 
such  it  was,  with  amazement.  It  seemed  at  first 
sight  a  rough  joke.  In  one  corner  glared  the  con 
ventional  cross-bones  and  skull,  rudely  drawn,  and 
to  the  right  and  beneath  them  sprawled  the  word, 
"  Beware  /"  All  this  was  amusing,  but  the  logic  of  the 
argument  which  followed  gave  him  thought.  "This 
neutral  business  is  played  out,"  the  placard  went  on 
to  say,  "either  you  are  for  us  or  you  are  for  the  dudes. 
If  you  are  for  the  dudes,  get  out.  If  you  are  for  us, 
send  in  your  men  to  help  us  repel  the  invaders.  This 
is  our  first  warning.  Remember  the  Red  Star!  (Signed) 
COMMITTEE." 

346 


Louis    Calls   for    Ann 

Raymond  folded  the  sheet  and  returned  it  to  Kelly. 
"You  don't  think  that's  a  josh?" 

"I  do  not.  Battle  is  in  the  air.  Yesterday  and 
to-day  have  been  wild  days;  nothing  but  guns  will 
quell  this  mob  now.  Munro  can't  control  'em  with 
out  using  lead." 

Raymond  rose.  "Let's  go  down  to  my  shack;  we 
can  talk  matters  over  there  more  freely." 

"I'll  be  with  you  in  a  few  minutes,"  answered 
Kelly. 

On  the  path  to  the  bungalow  the  young  man  stop 
ped  with  intent  to  sound  the  night.  The  voices  of  his 
men  on  the  dump,  the  roll  and  squeak  of  pulleys,  the 
puffing  of  his  engine,  the  clang  of  ore-cars  came  to  his 
ears  to  testify  that  work  was  going  on  as  usual,  and 
he  hurried  on  to  his  silent  cabin.  It  was  warm,  for 
the  faithful  Perry  had  built  a  fire  early  in  the  evening; 
and  after  he  had  lighted  a  couple  of  candles  and  kicked 
the  fire  into  a  blaze  the  room  resumed  its  cheerful  glow, 
but  he  was  too  deeply  disturbed  over  Louis'  non-ap 
pearance  to  fully  enjoy  it.  He  took  out  his  revolver 
and  was  examining  it  carefully  as  Kelly  entered. 

"Did  ye  meet  with  any  trouble,  Rob?" 

"None.  Some  of  the  committee  of  safety  wanted 
to  arrest  me  and  hold  me  as  hostage,  but  Barnett 
stood  'em  off.  I  didn't  see  a  soul  till  on  my  way  back 
I  came  on  one  of  Jack's  picket -posts,  where  I  found 
four  men  camped  in  misery  and  eating  snow-balls  for 
supper." 

"It's  strange  the  power  he  has  over  them  wild 
cow-boys.  Drunk  or  sober,  they  do  as  he  tells  them. 
His  trouble  will  come  with  Brock  and  Smith,  who 
are  neither  miners  nor  cow-boys;  for  they  are  all  try- 

347 


Hesper 

in'  to  derive  their  power  from  Carter,  who  is  dead  sick 
of  the  business  and  likely  to  fly  the  coop  at  any  min 
ute.  Where  you  goin'?" 

"Up-town  to  take  a  look  round  for  Louis." 

"You  go  not!  'Tis  a  poor  time  for  you  to  visit 
the  street.  They  have  it  in  their  heads  that  you  are 
playin'  the  spy." 

"I  must  find  that  boy.  He  left  the  Springs  at 
eight  this  morning,  and  his  sister  is  worried  about 
him." 

"I  will  go  for  ye,  Rob.    It's  too  dangerous  for  you." 

Raymond  rose  and  laid  a  hand  on  Kelly's  shoulder. 
"  See  here,  Matt,  I  want  to  talk  plainly  to  you.  You've 
got  to  bundle  up  that  little  wife  and  the  boys  and 
get  out  of  here.  I'm  going  to  take  a  hand  in  this 
game.  I'm  going  to  call  the  independents  together 
and  make  a  stand.  I  have  no  one,  except  Louis,  de 
pending  on  me,  and  if  I'm  snuffed  out  it  won't  matter 
• — so  much — but  you  must  think  of  Nora  and  the  lads 
every  minute.  They're  worth  more  to  you  than  all 
the  mines  on  the  hill.  Now  you  pull  out." 

Kelly  faced  him.  "I  can't  do  that,  Rob.  If  you 
make  a  stand,  I  must  be  beside  ye.  What  is  your 
plan?" 

"I  will  not  tell  you  unless  you  promise  to  take 
Nora  out  of  danger." 

Kelly's  face  grew  stern  and  his  voice  fell  to  a  level 
hoarseness  that  sent  a  quiver  through  the  young 
man's  blood.  "See  here,  boy,  we  struck  hands  on 
this  partnership.  We  share  and  share  alike  Matt 
Kelly  never  shirked  his  end  of  anny  load,  and  I  serve 
notice  to  you  right  here  that  anny  call  you  send  out 
will  be  done  touchin'  elbows  with  the  old  man.  Do 

348 


Louis    Calls    for    Ann 

ye  think  I'll  sneak  away  like  a  scared  puppy?  "Tis 
too  much  to  ask  of  a  man,  Rob.  I  would  not  give 
them  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  broad  o'  me  back. 
No,  I  am  with  you  and  so  is  Nora.  I  am  ready  to  dig 
a  hole  in  the  ground  and  stand  'em  off  till  hell  freezes 
over.  I'm  worn  out  with  their  cornin'  and  goin',  whip- 
sawin'  now  on  this,  now  on  that  side  o'  the  question. 
They've  declared  war  on  us.  Now,  by  the  powers! 
we'll  meet  'em  half-way." 

Raymond  surrendered.  "All  right,  Matt,  here's  my 
hand.  We'll  defend  Nora  and  the  mine,  too.  When 
your  fighting  blood  is  up  I  don't  want  any  dispute  be 
tween  us." 

Kelly's  eyes  began  to  twinkle.  "I  begin  to  draw 
me  breath  natural  again.  For  weeks  I've  been  want 
ing  to  put  me  fist  beneath  the  noses  of  these  rap- 
scalions,  but  for  fear  of  Ann  and  Nora  I  could  not." 

"Very  well,  we'll  send  out  a  call  for  a  meeting  to 
night;  the  quicker  we  move  the  better.  I  feel  as  you 
do — now  we  are  acting  a  man's  part.  There  is  a  big 
element  here  that  is  sick  of  this  monkey-business. 
Half  the  camp  will  rally  in  our  support.  I  know  it. 
Then  we  will  serve  notice  on  Munro — "  The  sound 
of  hurrying  feet  interrupted  him,  and  a  moment  later 
Louis  burst  into  the  room. 

"Oh,  Rob,  I'm  glad  you're  here.  Hello,  Matt!" 
He  shook  hands,  breathing  heavily.  His  skin  was 
flushed  and  his  eyes  shining.  "You  ought  to  be 
up -town.  Jack  is  makin'  'em  sit  up.  He  shot  one 
man.  They  were  building  a  fort,  and  a  drunken 
fellow—" 

"Take  your  time,"  said  Raymond,  coldly,  "there 
are  several  minutes  left  in  the  box.  You  might  be- 

349 


Hesper 

gin  at  the  beginning  and  tell  me  why  you  sneaked, 
away  again  without  saying  good-bye  to  Ann?" 

The  boy  was  not  daunted.  "As  soon  as  I  heard 
what  the  sheriff's  plans  were  I  wanted  to  leave,  but 
it  was  so  dark;  that  was  last  night.  I  was  afraid 
to  try  it,  so  this  morning  I  pulled  out  early." 
"Where  have  you  been  all  day?" 
"I've  been  with  Jack.  I  met  his  men  way  down 
the  canon  and  they  took  me  to.  headquarters,  where 
I  told  my  story,  and  then  I  went  to  supper  with  Jack ; 
and  then  this  big  row  came  on  and  I  stayed  to  see 
that.  Oh,  but  Jack  is  fine!  He  faced  the  whole 
crowd  alone.  One  man  wanted  to  clean  out  your 
cabin,  he  said  it  was  a  nest  of  traitors.  He  drew 
his  gun  on  Jack,  but  he  hadn't  time  to  pull  the  trigger. 
Jack's  bullet  went  through  his  arm." 

Raymond,  who  had  been  studying  the  lad  with 
softening  glance,  interrupted  him:  "Now,  see  here, 
Louis,  you  sit  down  here  by  the  fire.  Don't  let  your 
words  all  try  to  get  out  of  the  corral  at  the  same  time. 
We  want  to  know  all  about  it,  but  we  don't  want 
you  to  hurry.  It's  only  ten  o'clock,  and  you  can  get 
over  a  whole  lot  of  ground  by  midnight." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  with  grave  eyes. 
The  boy  was  trembling  with  excitement,  and  his  voice 
was  high  and  strained. 

Kelly  said,  gently:  "My  lad,  'twould  serve  your 
sister  better  if  you  kept  out  of  this.  I  don't  like  to 
see  you  riding  between  the  lines  as  a. spy." 

"I  didn't  intend  to  be  a  spy,  but  when  I  heard  the 
trick  they  were  going  to  play,  I  couldn't  help  hurry 
ing  back.'1 

"What  trick?" 

350 


Louis    Calls    for    Ann 

"Why,  they're  going  to  load  all  their  men  into 
freight-cars,  and  make  them  keep  quiet;  and  then 
they're  going  to  run  them  through  Jack's  guard  at 
Boggy,  clear  to  the  end  of  the  rails." 

"That's  a  very  nice  plan,"  said  Raymond.  "When 
do  they  intend  to  come?" 

"To-morrow  night,  if  the  guns  arrive  for  which  they 
are  waiting." 

"How  did  you  drop  onto  this?" 

"I  heard  Cousin  Don  tell  Dr.  Braide.  He  wanted 
Dr.  Braide  to  follow  next  day  in  case  of  accidents." 

"You've  told  this  to  Jack?" 

"Yes.  I  wanted  to  come  and  see  you,  Matt,  but  he 
said  I  could  tell  you  afterwards." 

Raymond  again  looked  at  his  partner.  "Well,  I 
don't  see  that  there  is  anything  for  us  to  do  now." 

"Jack  told  me  to  tell  you  to  be  on  your  guard  to 
night.  He  said  he'd  come  down  and  see  you  if  possible. 
Oh,  I  feel  so  cold,"  he  ended,  drawing  nearer  the  fire. 
"I'm  all  trembly  over  my  chest." 

"  I  reckon  you  better  strip  off  your  clothes  and  go  to 
bed.  This  has  been  a  hard  day  for  you." 

He  seemed  stiff,  and  was  shivering  convulsively.  "I 
believe  I  will.  Rob,  I  don't  feel  any  good." 

As  Raymond  helped  him  to  undress,  the  boy's  teeth 
began  to  chatter,  and  he  drew  his  breath  with  a  hissing 
moan.  "I  guess  I've  taken  an  awful  cold,  Rob;  my 
breast  aches  so." 

"Matt,  go  ask  Nora  to  come  over  and  bring  her 
little  medicine-case.  This  boy's  got  a  chill  right  now." 

"A  swallow  of  whiskey  will  fix  that,"  answered  Matt, 
as  he  went  out.  "I'll  be  back  in  a  jiffy." 

Raymond  bundled  Louis  into  bed  and  heaped  him 


Hesper 

with  blankets  and  furs,  his  heart  deeply  stirred  with 
anxiety,  for  as  the  boy's  mind  turned  from  the  ex 
citement  of  his  day's  experiences  to  his  condition,  he 
became  deeply  depressed;  he  fairly  collapsed. 

"Oh,  Rob,  what  is  the  matter  with  me?  My  bones 
ache  like  mad." 

Raymond  cheered  him  while  rubbing  his  icy  hands 
and  feet.  "You  overdid  it  a  little  to-day,  that's  all. 
You'll  be  all  right  in  the  morning.  You  didn't  take 
clothing  enough." 

"I  wish  Ann  were  here." 

Raymond  was  silent,  but  beneath  his  breath  he  most 
fervently  echoed  this  prayer,  so  slender  and  boyish  did 
Louis  seem  at  the  moment. 

Mrs.  Kelly,  with  her  "  emergency  case"  of  medicine, 
and  a  knowledge  of  sickness  gained  in  years  of  maternal 
care  in  the  rough  country,  was  a  great  comfort  to  Ray 
mond,  but  she  could  not  keep  down  his  growing  anx 
iety.  The  boy's  body  was  so  small  and  frail  when 
stripped  of  its  clothing!  Under  their  vigorous  minis 
trations  the  sufferer  ceased  to  shake,  and  at  last  fell 
into  a  hot,  uneasy  doze. 

Raymond,  seeing  this,  whispered:  "You  must  go 
home.  I  will  watch." 

"No,  Rob,  you  must  sleep.  I  forgot  you  had  no 
sleep  last  night." 

"Oh  yes,  I  did.  I  took  a  nap  at  Barnett's.  Please 
go  to  bed." 

To  this  arrangement  she  submitted,  and,  taking  his 
seat  close  by  the  boy's  couch,  Raymond  studied  his 
flushed  face,  more  concerned  at  that  moment  over  his 
temperature  and  pulse  than  with  the  brawling  crowds, 
the  invading  force,  or  the  fate  of  his  mine.  When 

352 


Louis    Calls    for    Ann 

Munro  knocked  on  his  door  he  went  out  upon  the 
threshold  and  reported  the  failure  of  his  mission, 
while  the  captain  of  the  vedettes  listened  with  his 
horse's  rein  across  his  arm.  At  the  end  he  merely 
said:  "All  right.  Let  them  come;  they  will  find  us 
ready."  Then  added,  "Did  the  kid  turn  up  all  right?" 

"He  turned  up,  but  he  has  taken  a  chill  and  is  burn 
ing  with  fever." 

Munro  seemed  concerned.  "  He  had  nothing  on  but 
that  little  gray  jacket.  I  tried  to  warm  him  up  with 
some  whiskey  and  a  supper.  I  hope  he  won't  be  laid 
up.  Well,  now,  old  man,  what  are  you  going  to  do — 
help  us  or  the  dudes?" 

"I  can't  decide  anything  to-night.  I'm  worried 
about  this  boy.  If  he  is  better  in  the  morning,  I'll  have 
something  decisive  to  say  to  you." 

"All  right;  take  your  time  —  only  don't  take  too 
long.  It's  up  to  you  to  decide.  Good-night.  Keep 
me  posted  on  the  boy's  condition." 

"What  I  do  you'll  know  about,"  Raymond  respond 
ed,  quietly. 

A  half-hour  later  Jim  Dolan  and  two  or  three  of  his 
fellow-reporters  tumbled  in,  eager  to  know  what  Ray 
mond  had  seen  in  the  valley. 

To  them  he  said:  "Boys,  I  haven't  a  word  to  say. 
I'm  sorry  I  can't  offer  you  a  bed,  for  Louis,  my  boy 
friend,  is  very  sick.  Dolan,  I  wish  you  would  send  up 
the  best  doctor  in  Bozle.  Tell  him  there's  money  in  it, 
if  he  comes  to-night." 

Dolan  was  sympathetic.  "I'll  do  it,  old  man.  I'm 
mighty  sorry  about  the  kid." 

To  Matt,  Raymond  turned.  "  Go  on  with  your  meet 
ing  without  me.  I  can  do  nothing  till  this  boy  dodges 
2*  353 


Hesper 

this  fever."  And  Kelly  went  away, reluctantly,  to  meet 
with  the  leaders  of  the  neutral  party,  robbed  of  half  his 
resolution,  for  he,  too,  loved  the  sick  lad. 

At  twelve  o'clock,  when  some  of  the  men  were  pass 
ing,  he  went  out  and  called  Baker  and  said,  in  the 
tone  of  one  who  has  at  last  decided  on  a  plan  of  action, 
"  I  want  you  to  carry  a  message  to  Boggy,  and  see  that 
it  gets  there." 

And  Baker,  having  a  long  training  as  cow-boy  be 
hind  him,  accepted  his  order  like  a  soldier. 

"All  right,  Rob,  she  goes." 

Raymond  pencilled  the  telegram  and  handed  it  to 
the  messenger.  "Tell  the  operator  to  send  this  to  the 
sheriff,  and  ask  no  questions.  See  that  he  tears  it  up. 
You  may  meet  Frank  Brown — you  remember  him — 
worked  for  Williams  one  season — " 

Baker  nodded. 

"If  you  do,  tell  him  Louis  is  sick  and  you're  going 
to  wire  his  sister;  but  slip  round  him  if  you  can. 
The  counter-sign  is  '  Contact — porphyry — and  slate/ 
When  you've  got  the  operator  clicking  pull  out  and 
ride  back  hard." 

The  telegram  was  addressed  to  the  sheriff,  and  read : 

"They're  onto  your  box-car  game.     Look  out! 

"A  PEACE  LOVER." 

At  one  o'clock  Kelly  returned  with  lowering  brow. 
"I  wish  you'd  been  there,  lad.  They're  afraid  of 
Munro  and  voted  me  down.  We  are  to  do  nothing." 

Raymond,  submerged  in  the  rising  flood  of  his 
anxiety,  looked  at  his  partner  dully.  "Well,  per 
haps  it's  better  so,  Matt.  I  gave  my  word  to  Ann 

354 


Louis    Calls    for    Ann 

that  I  would  care  for  this  boy  as  if  he  were  my  brother, 
and  I'm  going  to  do  it,  regardless  of  every  other  con 
sideration.  If  he  grows  worse  I  shall  send  for  Ann, 
and  then  I  will  have  double  reason  to  keep  out  of  the 
movement." 

Kelly  was  silent  for  a  little  space,  then  slowly  replied : 
"I  can't  blame  ye,  Rob.  She's  worth  more  than 
the  whole  dom  peak  and  the  inhabitants  thrown  in. 
I'm  on  guard  to-night,  and  I'll  look  in  now  and  then. 
Let  me  know  if  I  can  help." 

Raymond,  waiting  for  the  dawn,  debated  with 
himself  whether  to  ask  Ann  to  come  at  once  or  to 
wait.  Now  that  he  had  seen  her  once  more  in  the 
comfort  and  security  of  Barnett's  home,  it  seemed 
cruel,  almost  criminal,  to  ask  her  to  return;  and  yet 
the  boy's  restless  tossing  and  moaning  indicated  de 
veloping  fever,  and  towards  daylight  he  called  Kelly. 
"Send  a  message  to  Ann.  Louis  is  a  mighty  sick 
boy  and  needs  her  care."  And  his  face  was  white 
with  anxiety  as  he  spoke. 


XXIV 
Ann    Returns    to    Sky-Town 

THE  morning  paper,  which  the  maid  brought  to 
Ann  while  she  still  drowsed  in  her  bed,  con 
tained  the  news  of  Louis'  arrival  at  Raymond's  cabin 
and  his  collapse.  It  was  only  a  curt  paragraph  in 
the  midst  of  wild  head-lines  about  the  mob,  but  its 
wording  froze  the  girl's  blood.  For  a  moment  she 
lay,  while  her  mind  ran  over  the  possibilities  of  the 
situation. 

"  All  the  early  part  of  the  night,"  the  reporter  went 
on  to  say,  "  bands  of  clamorous  men  marched  from 
mine  to  mine,  calling  upon  the  gangs  to  lay  down 
their  tools.  Only  two  firms  remained  unintimidated 
— Reese  Brothers  and  Kelly  &  Raymond.  In  the 
midst  of  all  this  turmoil,"  said  the  reporter,  "Ray 
mond,  one  of  the  men  most  concerned,  was  standing 
guard  over  a  sick  boy,  and  would  not  leave  his  side 
for  a  moment."  Ann  glowed  with  a  sense  of  deep 
obligation  to  that  watcher. 

Mrs.  Barnett  knocked  on  her  door  and  called, 
"Have  you  seen  the  papers,  Ann  Marie?" 

"Yes." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"I  am  going  up  there." 

Mrs.    Barnett   entered.     "How  can   you   go — with 

356 


Ann    Returns    to    Sky-Town 

that  mob  in  possession.  You  must  not  go!  It  isn't 
safe  for  you,  and  I  will  not  consent  to  have  Don  go 
again.  Who  will  protect  you?" 

Ann  flamed  with  wrath.  "Have  you  no  law  out 
here  that  will  protect  a  girl  who  goes  to  nurse  her 
sick  brother?  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  your 
idiotic  wars.  I  am  going  up  there  as  a  citizen  of 
New  York,  not  as  a  partisan  of  your  side  of  this 
struggle.  I  shall  not  leave  that  boy  there  to  suffer 
alone." 

Mrs.  Barnett  reeled  with  the  force  of  Ann's  attack. 
"Perhaps  he  isn't  so  ill — he  couldn't  be — he  left  here 
perfectly  well." 

"I  know  he  is  ill — terribly  ill — or  Mr.  Raymond 
would  not  sit  by  his  side  all  night  when  he  was  so 
badly  needed  elsewhere." 

' '  You  surely  cannot  blame  us  —  or  even  your 
self—" 

Then  the  reaction  came  and  Ann  reached  for  her 
friend's  neck.  "Oh,  I  wish  I  had  never  seen  this 
barbarous  country." 

Mrs.  Barnett,  being  wise,  took  proper  measure  of 
this  mood.  As  she  went  away  she  said:  "I  will 
call  Don  and  we  will  see  what  can  be  done.'* 

As  her  indignation  cooled,  Ann's  heart  went  out 
to  Raymond;  his  intrepidity,  his  loyalty,  and  his  love 
for  Louis  came  back  to  her. 

She  imagined  him  sitting  there  alone  through  the 
long  night,  hearing  the  tumult  outside,  knowing 
Kelly's  need  of  him,  yet  refusing  to  consider  any 
other  duty.  This  gave  her  pleasure,  even  while  it 
indicated  the  seriousness  of  the  boy's  condition. 
''And  Matt  and  Nora  —  they  were  loyal,  too,"  she 

357 


Hesper 

cried  out,  in  a  glow,  "and  Nora  is  such  a  good  little 
nurse." 

Mrs.  Barnett  re-entered  a  few  moments  later  deeply 
disturbed.  "I  can't  find  Don;  he  must  have  gone 
down-town.  Some  one  has  just  'phoned  a  message 
from  Rob.  He  says  Louis  has  taken  a  chill,  and  that 
you  are  to  come,  if  you  can,  but  not  to  worry.  He 
is  well  cared  for." 

"Can  we  reach  him  by  telegraph?" 

"The  operator  says  there  is  no  direct  connection 
with  Sky-Town,  but  that  the  wire  from  Bozle  to  the 
south  is  uncut.  We  can  try.'* 

"Tell  Don  to  wire  Mr.  Raymond  that  I  am  coming 
at  once,  and  that  I  will  bring  Dr.  Braide,  if  possible," 
answered  Ann,  alert  and  self-contained. 

She  rang  Dr.  Braide 's  telephone  a  few  moments  later, 
and  called,  firmly,  "  Dr.  Braide,  I  want  you  to  go  with 
me  to  Sky-Town—" 

His  cool,  indifferent  voice  cut  her  short.  "Who 
is  it,  please?" 

"It  is  Ann  Rupert—" 

"Ah!"  His  voice  changed — became  swift,  eager. 
"Certainly,  certainly,  Miss  Rupert;  I  understand. 
I  saw  the  note  about  your  brother.  It  will  be  a 
privilege.  I  will  run  over  at  once  and  discuss  the 
best  plan  for  getting  there." 

"Thank  you.  Please  come  soon,  for  I  am  very 
anxious." 

"I  sympathize  with  your  feeling." 

Ann  was  eating  her  breakfast  when  the  bell  rang, 
and  the  maid,  at  her  order,  brought  the  doctor  into 
the  dining-room,  looking  very  natty,  very  keen,  and 
very  much  pleased.  This  too  obvious  enjoyment 


Ann    Returns    to    Sky-Town 

of  his  seivice  cooled  Ann's  tone.     "Have  you  had 
your  breakfast,  Dr.  Braide?" 

He  bowed  and  smiled,  a  little  too  gayly.  "As  Gen 
eral  Scott  would  say,  I  snatched  a  hasty  chop." 

She  icily  ignored  his  jocularity.  "I  am  asking  a 
great  deal  of  you,  doctor;  I  will  gladly  recompense  you 
for  any  loss  of  patients,  but  this  is  a  case — " 

"Please  don't  trouble  about  my  patients.  It  is  a 
pleasure  for  me  to  serve  you.  I  beg  you  not  to  bring  it 
down  to  so  mercenary  a  plane." 

"That's  very  kind  of  you,  but  I  must  insist  on  mak 
ing  it  a  matter  of  professional  service/'  replied  Ann, 
for  he,  too,  was  a  suitor,  and  she  liked  him,  but  at  this 
moment  she  wanted  his  skill — his  training  as  a  phy 
sician,  not  his  adoration.  This  he  had  insight  enough 
to  perceive,  and,  dropping  all  gallantry,  made  direct 
and  practical  suggestions  as  to  the  best  means  of 
reaching  the  camp. 

"We  can  go  by  the  Southern  Railway,  and  drive 
from  Sage  Flat,  or  we  can  go  over  the  stage-road.  In 
either  case  we  must  meet  and  pass  Munro's  guard; 
according  to  all  accounts  he  has  a  complete  circle." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  Munro  or  his  men,"  she  answered. 
"In  fact,  they  will  be  our  safeguard.  I  will  telegraph 
to  Mr.  Munro  that  we  are  coming,  and  he  will  see  that 
we  are  protected." 

"If  you  feel  that  way,  then  the  simplest  and  quickest 
route  is  over  the  old  stage-road.  With  a  good  span  of 
horses  and  a  light  cart  we  can  drive  to  Bozle  by  four 
o'clock  and  reach  Sky-Town  before  dark." 

"Then  let  us  go!"  she  cried,  rising.  "I  will  order  a 
carriage  at  once,  and  call  for  you  in  half  an  hour." 

"I  will  be  ready,"  he  alertly  replied. 
359 


Hesper 

By  means  of  the  telephone  Ann  ordered  the  livery 
man  to  harness  his  best  span  of  horses  to  a  mountain 
buckboard.  "  No,  I  do  not  need  a  driver,"  she  sharply 
answered  to  his  query.  "  Get  them  here  quick!" 

Before  she  left  the  receiver  Barnett  came  rushing 
into  the  room.  "What's  all  this?  Jeannette  tells  me 
you're  going  back  to  Sky-Town  to-day?" 

"In  twenty  minutes  I  shall  be  on  the  road." 

"Alone?" 

"No,  Dr.  Braide  is  going  with  me." 

"Impossible!  You  mustn't  do  it!  Our  attack  is 
to  be  made  to-night.  The  whole  hill  will  be  a  battle 
ground  to-morrow." 

"  I  can't  help  that,  Don.  I  must  go  to  my  brother. 
He  needs  me  all  the  more.  Think  of  that  poor  boy 
lying  there  burning  with  fever  and  a  batHe  ^oing  on! 
Put  off  your  attack.  It's  all  foolish,  wicked,  anyhow. 
What  good  will  it  do?  You  will  only  kill  men,  or  get 
killed  yourself.  There  is  enough  sorrow  in  the  world 
without  making  more.  I  think  you  mine-owners  are 
all  acting  silly — positively  silly.  Anyhow,  I  am  go 
ing." 

He  spoke  in  a  calmer  tone.     "  How  are  you  going?" 

"I've  ordered  a  team  from  the  livery." 

"Why  didn't  you  take  some  of  my  horses?" 

"  I  don't  want  to  take  them  into  the  cold  and  danger 
Tip  there.  Now  please  don't  try  to  stop  me.  My  mind 
is  made  up,  the  team  is  ordered,  and  you  will  only 
hinder  me.  Go  on  with  your  opera-bouffe  campaign. 
Take  no  thought  of  Louis  or  me  —  that's  the  way 
Napoleon  would  do — all  great  commanders  sacrifice 
life.  Louis  and  I  will  try  to  escape  somehow." 

This  strange  mood  in  the  girl  puzzled  him  and  daunt- 
360 


Ann    Returns    to    Sky-Town 

ed  him,  and,  grumbling  inarticulately,  he  retreated, 
seeking  reinforcements,  while  Ann  hastily  ordered  to 
gether  the  warm  things  she  needed.  When  she  ap 
peared,  splendidly  robed  in  furs,  she  looked  like  a  Rus 
sian  princess  on  her  way  to  her  sleigh,  though  her  anx 
ious  face  belied  her  grandeur. 

Barnett,  now  quite  distracted,  did  his  best  to  make 
her  comfortable  in  the  scant-bodied  wagon,  which  of 
fered  very  little  protection  from  the  cold  winds. 

As  the  driver  leaped  out,  Mrs.  Barnett  shrieked  from 
the  piazza,  "Ann,  you're  not  going  to  drive?" 

Ann  kissed  the  tips  of  her  gloves  towards  the  house, 
nodded,  and  took  up  the  lines.  "They're  not  pretty," 
she  said,  speaking  of  the  horses. 

"They're  chain-lightnin',  all  the  same,  miss.  Can 
you  manage  'em — think?" 

"I'm  quite  sure  of  it,"  she  said,  and  drew  the  reins 
taut.  "Good-bye,  everybody,"  and  at  her  chirp  the 
lank,  yellow  cayuses  swung  in  swift  circle  and  were  off. 

Dr.  Braide  was  waiting  as  she  drew  up  to  his  door. 
He  carried  a  big  bear-skin  robe  over  his  arm  and  held  a 
medicine-case  in  his  hand.  ' '  Have  you  plenty  of  wraps  ? 
It's  cold  up  there,  they  say.  Let  me  arrange  this  robe 
round  your  feet.  Shall  I  drive?" 

"No,  thank  you;  I  will  drive." 

He  was  a  little  longer  tucking  her  in  than  she  thought 
necessary,  and  her  tone  was  a  bit  sharper  as  she  said, 
"Come,  doctor,  we  are  losing  time." 

The  young  man  sprang  in  with  flushed  face  and 
shining  eyes.  "This  is,  indeed,  a  glorious  enterprise," 
he  gayly  shouted.  And  it  was.  To  sit  beside  a  splen 
did  girl  on  a  journey  towards  a  towering,  storm-hid 
peak,  hurrying  towards  a  battle-field  in  the  sky,  does 

361 


Hesper 

not  come  to  many  men  in  their  lifetime.  He  was  not 
discouraged  by  her  curtiiess — that  was  probably  due 
to  her  anxiety;  and,  besides,  he  was  the  leading  physi 
cian  of  the  town,  of  eminent  family,  and  quite  justified 
in  having  a  very  good  opinion  of  himself.  Ann  had 
always  been  gracious  to  him;  he  had  even  permitted 
himself  to  fancy  she  admired  him,  and  on  this  long  ride 
in  the  wild,  in  the  service  to  her  brother,  what  might 
not  happen? 

Ann  was  deeply  irritated  by  his  presence,  by  some 
self-satisfaction  lurking  in  his  voice,  and  it  was  only  by 
thinking  hard  upon  his  skill  and  how  much  it  would 
mean  to  Louis  that  she  was  able  to  endure  his  touch. 
In  the  case  of  Wayne  Peabody  this  feeling  of  repulsion 
amounted  only  to  a  mild  distaste ;  with  Braide  it  was 
actual  shrinking. 

The  doctor,  with  carefully  modulated  voice  (neither 
too  gay  nor  too  grave),  discussed  the  probabilities. 
"We'll  find  the  boy  much  better,  I'm  sure  of  it.  It's 
rather  curious,  but  I  was  pressed  to  go  with  the  column 
to-night  to  be  ready  in  case  of  accident ;  but  declined, 
pleading  my  duties  to  my  patients;  now  here  I  am 
going  gladly,  and  my  patients  waiting."  He  said 
this  with  full  intent  to  have  her  know  with  how  much 
weight  her  lightest  wish  pressed  upon  him. 

A  realization  of  this  indebtedness  already  troubled 
the  proud  girl.  She  was  quite  ready  to  face  a  money 
obligation,  but  she  had  asked  something  of  this  young 
man  which  he  would  have  put  aside  disdainfully 
from  any  other  person,  and  this  fact  rendered  her  re 
sentful. 

"  However,  Mr.  Raymond  would  not  even  have  hinted 
at  my  coming  had  he  not  been  very  anxious,  and  I 

362 


Ann    Returns    to    Sky-Town 

will  go  on,"  she  decided,  though  the  thought  of  the 
long  drive  with  this  powerful  young  masculine  and 
insistent  personality  by  her  side  fairly  frightened  her. 
"What  will  we  talk  about?"  she  thought.  "He  must 
be  careful." 

"You're  a  wonderful  whip,"  he  began,  after  a  si 
lence. 

"I  used  to  do  a  great  deal  of  it  some  years  ago." 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  tire — let  me  relieve  you?" 

"No,  I  prefer  to  govern;  it  helps  me  bear  the  sus 
pense,"  she  added,  a  little  more  graciously. 

"I  can  understand  that,"  he  admitted,  with  a  keen 
glance  of  admiration. 

The  horses  were,  indeed,  marvels;  they  pushed  up 
the  steep,  winding  road  with  steady  stride,  their  awk 
ward  heads  swinging.  Not  till  they  entered  the  canon 
did  they  lag  into  a  walk.  The  clouds  hung  low,  in 
great,  gray  masses,  covering  even  the  secondary  peaks. 
Patches  of  snow  began  to  appear  at  the  road-side.  It 
was  a  bleak,  inhospitable,  and  silent  world.  Not  a 
branch  was  in  motion.  The  wind,  a  slight,  slow,  cir 
cling  current  of  air,  remained  high  like  a  hawk,  uncer 
tain  of  purpose.  Only  the  trickle  of  water  dripping 
from  the  beds  of  snow  could  be  heard  as  the  horses 
stopped  now  and  again  for  a  rest. 

"There  is  something  ominous  in  this  stillness," 
Ann  said,  at  last. 

"Where  do  you  suppose  we  will  meet  Munro's 
men?" 

"Anywhere  after  we  leave  the  half-way  house, 
according  to  report." 

"You  know  this  man  Munro?" 

"I've  met  him." 

363 


Hesper 

"Is  he  as  terrible  as  people  think  him?" 

"  He  seemed  very  boyish  to  me  and  not  at  all  terrible." 

"The  morning  papers  stated  that  he  had  assumed 
absolute  control  up  there  and  that  his  men  were 
drilled  in  true  military  fashion." 

"So  much  the  better  for  us,"  answered  Ann,  "for 
he  will  see  that  we  are  protected." 

After  a  pause  the  young  doctor  began  again:  "  Ray 
mond  made  a  miraculous  recovery.  What  a  physique 
that  fellow  has.  I  shall  be  interested  in  seeing  him 
again." 

Another  pause  intervened.  "It  is  singular  what  a 
passion  a  boy  will  sometimes  conceive  for  a  man  of 
action  like  that.  Don  tells  me  that  Raymond  is 
Louis'  exemplar,  and  yet  to  us  he  is  merely  a  fine 
young  rancher." 

Ann  refused  to  be  drawn  into  a  discussion  of  Ray 
mond  by  this  lure,  and  Braide  went  on,  shying  a  little 
from  the  danger -point.  "Still,  these  men  of  good, 
natural  ability  sometimes  develop  swiftly  under 
favoring  conditions.  Raymond  is  a  man  of  some 
education,  and  to  strike  it  rich  might  send  him  to 
Congress.  He  has  a  strong  following  even  here  in 
the  Springs.  His  course  has  been  temperate  all 
through  this  trouble." 

Ann  continuing  unresponsive,  he  returned  to  the 
weather  and  to  admiration  of  the  magnificent  cliffs 
round  which  the  road  ran,  climbing  steadily  and  swiftly. 
Once  or  twice  they  met  a  string  of  freight  teams,  whose 
drivers  stared  heavily  at  the  sight  of  a  pretty  girl  in 
superb  furs  driving  a  pair  of  bony  broncos. 

At  about  eleven  o'clock  they  reached  the  wide 
mountain  meadow  out  of  which  the  Bear  Creek  fell. 


Ann    Returns    to    Sky-Town 

The  clouds  hung  just  above  their  heads,  a  broad, 
seamless,  gray  roof,  and  as  they  drove  across  the 
level  ground  the  landscape  grew  steadily  bleaker  and 
more  desolate,  and  the  wind,  unimpeded  by  forests, 
cut  remorselessly  as  it  swept  into  their  faces.  Much 
as  she  disliked  to  do  so,  Ann  was  forced  to  yield  the 
reins  to  Braide,  her  hands  being  numb  with  cold. 

At  the  half-way  house  they  found  a  stage-load  of 
people  and  several  freighters,  and  every  man's  mouth 
was  agape.  Braide  sprang  out,  briskly  calling  to  a 
slouchy  individual  who  seemed  a  little  in  advance 
of  the  other  loafers: 

"  Can  you  stable  our  team  for  an  hour?" 

"I  reckon  we  kin,  stranger;  that's  what  we're  here 
for." 

"Very  well,  do  so,  and  blanket  them,"  he  added, 
and  Ann  liked  him  for  that. 

The  tavern  was  a  survival  of  the  days  when  rail 
roads  were  of  the  far-away  future;  a  long,  low,  log 
structure  with  a  roof  of  dirt  out  of  which  dead  weeds 
flaunted.  The  front  room,  which  swarmed  with  men 
in  rough  clothing,  seemed  to  be  a  country  store  and 
post-office  as  well  as  an  eating-house.  A  small,  active 
old  woman  met  Ann  with  toothless  grin.  "Step  right 
this  way  and  get  out  o'  the  smudge." 

Ann  followed  her  into  a  minute  bedroom  which 
opened  off  the  dining-room.  The  old  woman  began 
to  clatter.  "Put  off  your  things  here.  My!  but 
them's  fine  furs!  Did  ye  drive  up  from  the  Springs? 
Wait  a  second,  and  I'll  get  some  hot  water."  She 
was  miraculously  spry  for  one  of  her  age,  and  soon 
returned,  her  eyes  gleaming  with  a  new  thought,. 
"Are  you  going  on  to  the  camp?" 

365 


Hesper 

"Yes." 

"Wai,  you'll  find  it  lively  up  there!  As  near  as 
I  can  learn  they  mean  biz!"  she  whispered.  "Some 
o'  Jack  Munro's  men  are  in  there  now  eatin'.  They 
keep  a  mighty  sharp  watch  on  who  comes  in  these 
days.  Soon's  you're  ready  I'll  put  you  and  your  man 
down  at  my  end  of  the  table  and  I'll  look  after  ye." 

Ann  laid  aside  her  furs,  but  retained  her  hat,  and 
as  she  re-entered  the  room  made  a  dazzling  appeal 
to  those  rough  fellows,  who  eyed  her  with  sly  side- 
glances. 

Braide,  already  seated,  rose  to  meet  her.  "We 
have  reached  an  outpost  of  the  guard,  and  will  be 
interrogated  before  we  leave,  I  fear." 

"  I  am  quite  ready  to  meet  them,"  she  replied,  bend 
ing  to  her  plate.  "They  can't  refuse  to  let  us  pass." 

The  talk  at  the  table  was  not  illuminating.  Each 
man  apparently  strove  to  fill  his  paunch  before  his 
fellow.  Only  one  of  them  seemed  to  study  Ann  and 
her  companion  with  candid  interest.  This  was  a  small 
man  with  a  chin-beard  and  an  eye  as  keen  as  that  of  a 
blue  jay.  His  voice  was  a  drawling  nasal  and  his  man 
ner  assured.  As  the  other  men  filled  up  and  left  the 
table,  he  came  down  and  carelessly  took  a  seat  near 
Braide. 

"I  reckon  I've  seen  you  before,"  he  began,  pleas 
antly. 

"I  shouldn't  wonder.  I'm  Dr.  Braide,  of  Valley 
Springs." 

The  stranger  glowed.  "Why,  sure  thing!  That's  it. 
I  heard  you  make  a  speech  once  in  a  county  conven 
tion.  You're  the  man  that  treated  Rob  Raymond, 
aren't  you,  out  to  Barnett's  ranch?" 

366 


Ann    Returns    to    Sky-Town 

"The  very  same." 

"Where  you  aimin'  to  go  now,  if  it's  a  fair  question?" 

"To  Sky-Town." 

"People  ain't  travellin'  that  way  much  just  now." 

"Goin'  to  treat  somebody?"  asked  the  old  woman, 
who  was  hovering  near. 

Ann  interposed.  "Yes,  he  is  going  up  to  treat  my 
brother  Louis,  who  is  lying  very  ill  at  Mr.  Raymond's 
cabin." 

The  stranger  glowed  again.  "Well,  now,  I'm  glad 
you  told  me  that.  I've  heard  of  you,  and  I've  met 
'Raymond's  kid,'  as  we  call  him.  So  he's  sick,  is  he? 
Well,  it's  a  bad  time  to  be  sick.  He'd  better  be  down 
at  the  Springs.  Still,  a  feller  can't  always  choose  times 
to  be  sick.  Didn't  see  nothin'  of  the  sheriff's  army  on 
the  way,  did  ye?"  Here  he  winked  at  Braide. 

The  doctor  smiled.  "Not  a  thing.  I  don't  think 
they've  left  the  valley  yet." 

"I'd  advise  'em  not  to.  I'm  glad  you're  going  up. 
That's  a  fine  boy,  that  brother  of  yourn,  madam.  I 
hear  he  can  draw  a  horse  and  put  a  man  on  him  natural 
as  life.  I'm  going  over  to  the  camp  myself,  and  if  you 
don't  mind  I'll  jest  nacherly  jog  along  a  rod  or  two 
ahead  of  you — to  show  you  the  road." 

During  this  conversation  every  one  but  a  boy  at  the 
opposite  end  of  the  table  had  risen  and  walked  out, 
only  the  old  woman  and  the  girl  waiter  seemed  un- 
disguisedly  listening. 

As  he  rose  to  go,  the  stranger  said:  "If  so  be  it  you 
folks  have  any  influence  with  Rob  Raymond,  preach 
him  into  joining  the  movement.  It  '11  be  a  mighty 
sight  safer  for  him,  and  a  big  help  to  the  miners." 
There  was  a  notable  dignity  and  gravity  in  his  face  and 

367 


Hesper 

voice  as  he  uttered  this,  and,  as  if  in  answer  to  Ann's 
unspoken  query,  he  added:  "Yes,  I'm  a  mine-owner 
myself.  I  stood  out  for  a  while  like  Kelly.  I'm  one  of 
the  old-time  burro-punchers — but,  after  all,  the  work 
ing-miner  is  my  people.  If  I  had  a  million  I  wouldn't 
fit  in  with  Mackay  and  Barnett  and  their  dude  friends." 

After  the  miner  left  the  room,  Braide  said:  "We're  in 
the  enemy's  country.  He  was  plainly  warning  us,  and 
his  going  along  is  in  the  nature  of  an  armed  guard." 

"  His  escort  may  be  of  use  to  us,"  replied  Ann. 
"Who  was  that  man?"  she  asked  of  the  old  woman, 
who  fairly  whispered  her  answer. 

"That's  old  Steve  Adams.  He's  boss  of  this  squad. 
All  six  o'  them  men  are  Munro's  pickets." 

"We  have  fallen  into  good  hands,"  said  Ann.  "I 
like  that  little  man,  he's  so  gentle." 

"  Gentle!  Wai,  if  the  yarns  they  tell  of  him  is  true, 
he  is  pizen  as  a  rattlesnake,  for  all  he's  so  low- voiced. 
We're  all  skeered  to  death  of  him." 

"You  don't  sympathize  with  the  miners,  then?" 
asked  Braide. 

"Wai,  now,  sometimes  I  do,  and  then  again  I  don't." 

"  Depends  on  the  run  o'  custom,  I  suppose?"  retorted 
Braide,  rather  cynically. 

"How?"  she  asked,  a  little  bewildered. 

Ann  put  an  end  to  this.  "We  must  be  going;"  and 
the  old  lady  never  did  understand  the  doctor's  remark. 

As  Ann  walked  out  through  the  front  room,  blue 
with  smoke  and  filthy  with  spittle,  her  face  was  im 
passive  as  marble,  but  the  lines  of  her  lips  were  disdain 
ful.  "They  are  such  nasty  brutes,"  was  her  thought. 
The  teamsters  on  their  part  became  silent  as  she  passed, 
and  those  in  her  path  fell  back  against  the  counter  as 

368 


Ann    Returns    to    Sky-Town 

if  fearing  the  touch  of  her  sweeping  cloak.  But  eack 
man's  eye,  round,  furtive,  followed  her  stately  stepping 
as  if  eager  to  fix  in  his  brain  this  unexpected  vision 
of  superb  young  womanhood,  and  when  she  had  passed 
from  sight  one  man  looked  at  the  others,  and,  drawing 
a  deep  breath,  uttered  a  low  oath:  "Man!  She's  a 
peach!" 

Ann  drew  a  deep  breath  also,  but  it  was  of  the  pure, 
outside  air,  in  hope  of  driving  out  every  least  atom  of 
the  odor  which  had  sunk  deep  into  her  lungs.  She 
shuddered  as  though  she  had  suffered  some  defilement 
from  the  glances  of  the  loafers.  By  contrast,  Dr. 
Braide  was  a  dazzling  creature,  and  she  submitted  to 
the  touch  of  his  hand  to  her  elbow  with  less  of  the  re 
pulsion  which  filled  her  at  the  start.  She  also  per 
mitted  him  to  drive,  for  her  hands  were  tired. 

The  clouds  began  to  lift,  rolling  slowly,  ponderously, 
reluctantly  upward  from  the  timbered  slopes,  unveil 
ing  crag  after  crag  of  purple-gray  rock,  while  far  to 
the  west  a  narrow  gap  in  the  hurrying  ranks  permitted 
the  blue  sky  to  be  seen. 

Their  guide  rode  rapidly,  signalling  the  doctor  now 
and  then  to  keep  pace  with  him,  and  after  nearly  an 
hour  of  fairly  level  ground  the  road  entered  another 
canon  and  crawled  upwards  along  a  prodigious  wall, 
which  beat  back  the  clashing  roar  of  a  small  but  very 
swift  stream  of  water.  The  tired  horses  lagged  up  this 
grade,  and  the  horseman  before  them  pulled  up  and 
fell  in  behind  to  talk  a  little  disjointedly. 

"Your  brother  passed  through  here  yesterday,  so 
the  boys  say.  I  didn't  see  him.  He  was  all  right  then , 
but  he  weren't  dressed  for  this  kind  o'  weather.  Like 
ly  he  took  a  chill.  He  don't  look  overly  strong.  1 
24  369 


Hesper 

hope  it  ain't  nothin'  serious.     'Feared  to  be  a  right 
likely  kind  of  a  boy." 

Ann  did  not  attempt  to  reply  to  his  prattle,  and  he 
seemed  not  to  expect  it,  and,  after  a  few  more  discon 
nected  remarks,  rode  ahead  again  and  remained  there, 
his  graceful,  small  figure  swaying  most  picturesquely  to 
the  motion  of  his  horse. 

"He  carried  a  rifle  under  his  thigh  and  a  revolver 
under  his  coat,"  remarked  Braide.  "Did  you  notice 
them?" 

"  I  saw  the  rifle,"  Ann  quietly  replied,  and  thereafter 
they  rode  practically  in  silence.  It  must  have  been 
about  five  o'clock  when  they  rounded  the  base  of  the 
Black  Cone  at  the  head  of  the  canon,  and  looked  away 
across  the  big  camp  and  far  out  upon  the  valley  to  the 
west.  The  clouds  still  hung  low  on  Mogalyon,  and  the 
shadow  rested  on  Sky-Camp;  but  the  mighty  "Hes 
perian  wall,"  as  her  father  called  it,  was  bathed  in  a 
flood  of  sunlight  so  pure,  so  dazzling,  that  each  pro 
digious  peak  seemed  translucent  as  a  lily.  The  white 
mass  rose  into  the  deep  blue  of  the  western  sky,  as 
summer  clouds  loom  after  rain — sharply  defined,  yet 
soft  as  down. 

The  girl  cried  out  with  delight.  "Oh,  that  wonder 
ful  range,  always  so  beautiful,  yet  never  the  same.  We 
are  in  the  shadow,  they  are  in  the  light.  I  am  taking 
that  as  a  good  omen.  There  must  be  peace  on  the 
ether  side  of  this  ugly  contention  between  the  valley 
and  the  peak."  At  the  moment  it  expressed  to  her 
some  of  the  magic,  the  mystery,  and  the  allurement 
with  which  it  called  to  her  father  a  quarter  of  a  cen 
tury  before. 

Adams,  their  guide,  was  a  considerable  distance  in 
37° 


Ann    Returns    to    Sky-Town 

advance  v/hen  a  couple  of  horsemen  encountered  them. 
After  a  moment's  conference  one  turned  back  and  the 
other  came  on  swiftly. 

Ann's  heart  glowed  with  the  hope  that  it  might  be 
Raymond  with  a  message  from  the  sick  one.  But  it 
proved  to  be  Munro.  She  recognized  his  mount  and 
his  way  of  riding  long  before  she  could  distinguish  his 
face.  He  came  up  swiftly,  and,  setting  his  horse  upon 
his  haunches,  leaped  cavalierly  to  the  ground. 

"Good-evening,  lady,"  he  called,  as  he  approached 
the  wagon.  "Have  you  journeyed  far?" 

"How  is  Louis?"  asked  Ann,  quickly,  with  instant 
revolt  of  his  assurance. 

He  felt  the  impersonal  rebuke  of  her  manner  and  re 
plied,  simply:  "He  is  better  this  afternoon,  so  I  hear. 
I  have  not  had  time  to  call.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  see  you 
again."  He  fixed  his  eyes  on  her  companion.  "I 
don't  think  I  know  you,"  he  said,  with  a  challenging 
inflection  in  his  voice. 

"I  am  Dr.  Braide,  of  Valley  Springs." 

Ann  explained.  "  Dr.  Braide  comes  to  attend  to  my 
brother." 

Munro's  face  lost  its  reckless  smile,  and  he  looked 
worn  and  pale.  "Doctor,  I'm  glad  to  meet  you.  I'd 
like  you  to  attend  a  patient  of  mine.  In  a  conflict  of 
authority  I  maimed  a  man,  and  he  needs  skilled  at 
tendance." 

"I'll  do  what  I  can  for  him,  after  my  visit  to  the  boy. 
What  news  have  you  ?  How  is  everything  on  the  hill  ? ' ' 

"Very  quiet,  just  now.  We  are  waiting  for  the 
sheriff  and  his  army.  We  are  on  the  defensive." 

"We  must  hurry  on,"  interrupted  Ann,  warmly  im 
patient  of  Munro's  glances. 


Hesper 

Braide  chirped  to  his  horses,  and  Munro  swung  to  his 
seat  and  galloped  after.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill  he 
called:  "Keep  that  winding  road;  it  will  bring  you  to 
the  top,  near  Kelly's.  I'll  meet  you  there." 

The  peak  was  more  than  quiet,  it  was  silent.  No 
longer  did  the  brakes  of  the  ore  wagons  and  the  trucks 
cry  out.  The  tall,  iron  smoke-stacks  were  stripped  of 
their  purple  banners.  The  jaws  of  the  stamp-mills  idly 
gaped.  The  metal-cars  stood  in  contemplative  cairn 
on  the  apices  of  their  dumps.  Around  each  shaft- 
house  one  or  two  watchmen  moved  listlessly.  It  was 
as  if  a  palsy  had  fallen  upon  every  able-bodied  work 
man,  causing  a  swift-devouring  decay  to  set  in. 

"What  a  change!"  exclaimed  Braide.  "I  was  here 
just  before  this  trouble  began,  and  these  hills  teemed 
with  men — " 

There  is  one  smoking  chimney ;  it  must  be  the'  Ray 
mond  &  Kelly  mine."     Ann  pointed  away  up  the  hill. 

"How  do  they  keep  going?" 

"The  strikers  fear  them,  and,  besides,  Munro  and 
Raymond  are  old  acquaintances.  I  think  he  protects 
them." 

As  they  rose  the  sun  sank  rapidly,  and,  short  as  the 
distance  appeared,  they  were  nearly  an  hour  climbing 
to  the  foot  of  the  overlook.  Ann  ached  with  impa 
tience,  but  the  horses  were  weary  and  too  breathless 
to  be  hurried.  The  peak  became  each  moment  more 
inexorable,  more  sinister.  With  the  thought  of  Louis 
and  his  needs,  the  physical  barriers  grew  greater  and 
more  numerous — distances  lengthened. 

Raymond  was  standing  at  the  Kelly s'  door  as  they 
drove  up,  his  face  sombre,  his  eyes  clouded.  He  could 
not  speak,  so  deeply  was  he  moved;  but,  with  a  nod  at 

372 


Ann    Returns    to    Sky-Town 

Braide  and  without  a  word,  threw  back  the  robes 
and  reached  a  hand  to  help  her.  "How  is  he?"  she 
asked,  with  a  catching  of  the  breath. 

"He  is  very  ill,  but  I  think — "  his  voice  failed  him 
for  a  moment.  "I'm  glad  to  see  you,  doctor.  He 
needs  you." 

Everything  whirled  before  Ann.  "  If  he  should  die — 
oh,  if  he  should  die!  It's  all  my  fault!"  she  wailed. 
"It's  all  my  fault!"  and  her  numb  limbs  refused  to 
move. 

"Don't  say  that,"  he  urged.  "I've  gone  over  it  a 
thousand  times.  I  don't  see  that  any  one  is  to  blame. 
I  know  you  are  not!  Come,  we  must  go  to  him." 

In  that  instant  something  seemed  to  pass  between 
them — some  invisible,  intangible  bond  was  established. 
Ann  put  out  her  hand  and  he  took  it  gently  between 
his  palms.  "Be  brave,  dear  girl,"  he  said,  tenderly. 

She  suddenly  roused  herself  and  hurried  towards  the 
cabin.  Mrs.  Kelly  came  to  meet  her  with  arms  opened 
wide,  her  sweet  face  pale  with  pity.  "  Oh,  Ann,  darlin', 
we're  needin'  ye!" 

Ann  went  to  her  for  an  instant,  then  put  her  aside 
and  knelt  beside  the  bed.  Her  heart  grew  icy  cold  with 
the  horror  and  the  pity  of  seeing  that  blithe,  boyish 
face  set  and  livid,  the  brows  grave  with  the  gravity  of 
battle.  His  eyes  were  closed,  and,  at  the  moment,  he 
appeared  to  be  dying.  She  caught  his  lax  hand  and 
kissed  it  passionately.  "Louis,  speak  to  me!  Speak 
to  sister!" 

Her  low  cry  pierced  Raymond's  heart,  and,  while  he 
stood  helpless,  sick  with  sympathetic  pain,  the  doc 
tor  took  Ann  gently  by  the  arm.  "Please  leave  me 
alone  with  Louis  for  a  few  minutes.  Trust  him  to  me." 

373 


Hesper 

Ann  turned  blindly  towards  Raymond,  her  throat 
aching  with  sobs  of  remorse.  "Oh,  if  I  had  only  stayed 
here!" 

Raymond  turned  comforter.  "The  doctor  is  right. 
His  case  is  not  decided  yet.  You  must  remember  how 
strong  and  well  he  has  been.  He's  not  the  pale  slip  he 
was  when  he  came  here.  Please  go  over  to  the  house 
and  let  Nora  make  some  tea  for  you,"  he  pleaded,  and 
at  last  she  yielded,  and  with  a  final  look  at  the  sick 
boy  went  out  with  Mrs.  Kelly. 

With  that  half-superstitious  confidence  which  even 
the  most  intelligent  feel  when  the  doctor  is  present, 
Raymond  soon  followed.  He  was  tired — tired!  His 
long  ride  to  the  valley  and  back,  his  lack  of  sleep — 
but  especially  his  anxiety — had  worn  upon  him  so  that 
now,  when  he  could  shift  some  part  of  his  responsi 
bility,  his  steel-woven  frame  began  to  quiver  and  his 
brain  to  thicken.  He  sank  into  a  chair  and  laxly  looked 
at  Ann. 

"  It  is  sweet  to  see  you,"  he  uttered,  slowly — "  doubly 
sweet  because  of  Louis.  We've  done  our  best,  Nora 
and  I.  I  was  in  agony  for  fear  you  would  not  come 
to  -  night.  I  didn't  want  to  shirk  responsibility  or 
labor — but — I — I  wanted  you.  It's  been  a  long  day 
for  me." 

Mrs.  Kelly  explained:  "Rob  is  dyin'  for  lack  o' 
sleep.  That's  the  truth.  He  wouldn't  leave  the  boy, 
and  after  riding  all  the  day  and  the  night  before. 
But  come  now,  have  some  tea — both.  My  mind  is 
easier  since  the  doctor  came.  Sure  I  know  he  will 
check  the  fever,  never  fear  that." 

Raymond  soon  put  down  his  cup  and  rose.  "Your 
drink  has  done  me  good,  Nora;  I  will  go  back  to  the 

374 


Ann    Returns    to    Sky-Town 

doctor  and  see  if  he  needs  help.  You  stay  here,"  he 
said  to  Ann,  and  his  voice  was  intimate  and  tender. 
"I  will  report  at  once." 

When  he  re-entered  a  few  moments  later  his  tone 
was  cheerful.  "The  doctor  has  made  his  examination 
and  is  confident  of  heading  off  pneumonia." 

Ann's  face  lit  with  joy.  "Oh,  did  he  say  that?" 
She  reached  both  her  hands  to  him.  "Now  you  can 
go  sleep;  I  will  watch  to-night." 

Together  they  returned  to  the  bungalow,  and  Ray 
mond,  after  a  moment's  conversation  with  Braide, 
threw  himself  on  his  couch.  "Ah!  this  seems  good," 
he  exclaimed  to  Ann,  and  fell  asleep  almost  instantly. 

She  drew  the  robe  over  him  with  careful  hands  and 
turned  to  Braide,  "  I'm  so  grateful  to  you,  Dr.  Braide." 

"Don't  speak  of  it.  To  serve  you  is  a  very  great 
pleasure  to  me."  His  tone  was  sincere  and  manly 
and  helped  to  reinstate  him  in  her  esteem.  "I'm 
ferociously  hungry,"  he  added,  "and  the  banging  of 
pans  in  the  shack  back  of  us  is  suggestive,  not  to  say 
tantalizing." 

"You  are  to  eat  supper  with  the  Kellys,"  she  an 
swered.  "I  think  you  would  better  go  over  to  the 
house  now.  I  will  stay  with  Louis." 

He  protested  against  this,  but  she  had  her  will. 
"In  case  he  grows  restless,"  he  said  at  the  door,  "call 
me.  However,  I  will  return  in  half  an  hour,  prob 
ably." 

A  suffocating  throb  of  tenderness  rose  in  Ann's  throat 
as  she  bent  above  Louis'  flushed  face  and  listened  to 
his  troubled  breathing.  Life  seemed  a  very  feeble  and 
evanescent  power  in  his  slender  frame,  and  the  persist 
ence  of  his  heart-beat  a  miracle.  Raymond  lay  in  pro- 

375 


Hesper 

ioundest  slumber,  his  face  in  shadow,  but  his  presence 
was  most  palpable  and  appealing.  Somehow,  since 
the  touch  of  his  hands  to  hers,  he  seemed  nearer,  less 
strange,  and  an  impulse  to  stoop  and  touch  his  fore 
head  with  her  lips  came  to  her.  She  felt  herself  in  the 
grasp  of  some  new  and  searching  power,  an  influence 
which  she  had  resented,  with  which  she  now  battled. 

Nora  came  softly  in.  "Ann,  dear,  the  supper  is 
on  the  table;  go  you  along  and  eat.  You're  needed 
to  keep  the  peace." 

"Peace  between  whom?" 

"Munro  and  Matt." 

"Is  Munro  there?" 

"He's  waiting  to  see  you.  Keep  him  from 'Matt; 
he's  in  a  bad  temper  to-night." 

Ann  went  out  with  a  wrinkle  of  vexation  on  her 
brow. 

Munro  was  waiting  just  outside  the  door  in  the  clear, 
yellow  dusk. 

"How  is  the  boy?"  he  asked,  as  she  drew  near. 

"He  is  better,  thank  you." 

"I'm  mighty  glad  to  hear  it.  I  was  worried  about 
him  on  my  own  account.  You  see,  he  was  brought 
to  me  by  one  of  my  vedettes,  and  as  he  had  a  great 
deal  of  information,  I  kept  him  with  us." 

"I  hope  you  didn't  ask  him  to  betray  his  friends?" 

"He  was  ready  to  talk." 

"You  shouldn't  have  listened.     He  is  only  a  boy." 

"It  is  no  more  than  fair,  lady,  that  one  member 
of  your  household  should  be  loyal  to  labor."  His 
eyes  burned  into  hers  as  he  bent  towards  her.  "What 
has  changed  you  towards  me?"  he  asked,  with  stern 
abruptness.  "You  give  me  nothing  but  'marble 

376 


Ann    Returns    to    Sky-Town 

brows'  these  days.  What  have  I  done  that  you  shut 
your  door  in  my  face?" 

Ann  experienced  a  certain  helplessness  in  the  face 
of  this  audacity. 

"What  you  do  is  of  no  consequence  to  me,  except 
so  far  as  my  brother  is  concerned." 

He  was  too  keen  not  to  perceive  his  advantage. 
"No  woman  can  play  with  me  and  not  get  cinched 
at  some  part  of  the  game." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"You  know  what  I  mean.  You  were  amused  with 
'  the  wild  man '  for  a  time ;  you  played  me  against  Rob 
for  the  fun  of  it,  and  then  pulled  out  with  Peabody. 
Was  that  nice?  Was  that  a  square  deal  to  Rob?  This 
boy's  sickness  is  a  punishment.  It  brings  you  back 
where  I  count.  You  can't  escape  me  so  easily  as  that, 
my  girl." 

"You  are  beside  yourself — I  will  not  listen — " 

He  laughed.  "Oh,  I  don't  mind;  I  had  a  little  fun 
out  of  it  myself.  I  had  never  met  just  your  kind 
before,  and  I  thought  you  were  a  little  different,  but 
you  weren't.  You  are  like  all  the  rest.  I  reckon 
you've  played  a  hundred  men  in  the  same  way,  but 
you  can't  play  me  twice." 

Ann  recoiled  before  a  certain  savagery  in  his  voice, 
and,  with  her  hand  on  the  latch  of  the  door,  answered, 
very  slowly:  "You  interested  me,  I  admit;  you're  very 
amusing  at  this  moment,  but  you  have  no  reason,  no 
right,  to  say  that  I  gave  you  the  slightest  encourage 
ment  to — to  take  this  attitude  towards  me.  It  is  the 
baldest  presumption  on  your  part." 

At  this  moment  Kelly  opened  the  door.  "  Is  it  you, 
Ann?"  He  stepped  aside.  "Go  in,  girl,  ye're  sup- 

377 


Hesper 

per's  waitin'."  Ann  slipped  in,  glad  to  escape  under 
the  great  arm  which  barred  Munro's  passage.  "You 
stay  outside,"  Kelly  said  to  the  young  desperado,  and 
his  voice  was  dangerously  calm.  "I  want  a  word  with 
you.  The  blood  of  this  night's  work  will  be  on  your 
head,  me  lad.  You  can't  excuse  yourself  by  sayin'  the 
committee  demands  it.  You  are  the  committee.  Great 
God,  man,  you're  crazy!" 

The  young  leader  laughed.  "They're  the  crazy  ones, 
to  come  up  against  my  men  on  this  hill  with  a  lot  of  old 
soaks,  one  -  lungers,  and  ex  -  policemen  dead  on  their 
hoofs.  But  don't  worry,  there'll  be  no  battle — the  clat 
ter  of  a  tin  can  will  scare  'em  into  bug-house  fits.  Now, 
Matt,  let  me  finish  what  I  came  to  say.  We've  been 
good  friends,  and  I  want  to  keep  friends.  You're  a 
fair  man,  but,  let  me  tell  you,  the  boys  are  getting  bit 
ter  against  you  independents  in  this  fight.  You  have 
no  business  to  stand  out  against  the  union." 

Kelly  harshly  interrupted  him.  "I  don't.  I  stand 
out  against  reckless  devils  like  you,  who  think  they 
can  stand  off  the  whole  United  States  army.  We've 
been  all  over  this  afore — " 

"  I  know  we  have,  and  now  let  me  say  that  I've  stood 
for  you  and  Rob  a  dozen  times,  but  I'm  done.  If  you 
want  to  go  down  to  history  as  a  traitor  to  the  cause  of 
labor—" 

Kelly  lifted  his  big  fist  in  a  gesture  of  menace.  "  Lis 
ten  to  me,  Jack  Munro;  I've  been  a  working-miner  all 
me  life,  whilst  you  were  at  school — whilst  you  were 
playin'  hooky  and  stealin'  plums,  and  all  the  years 
you've  been  runnin'  a  roulette-wheel  I  was  pickin'  at 
the  rocks.  If  any  man  is  fitted  to  advise  'tis  Matt 
Kelly,  and  not  a  play-actor  and  celluloid  bunco-steerer 

373 


Ann    Returns    to    Sky-Town 

like  y'rself.  Go  yer  ways,  Jack  Munro,  but  lave  me  and 
mine  alone.  This  ends  it.  Ye '11  have  no  welcome 
from  the  Kellys'  door  after  this  night's  work,  and  if  ye 
put  so  much  as  the  toe  of  ye're  boot  across  me  path  I'll 
kill  you  for  the  reckless,  murderin'  devil  that  ye  are!" 

Munro  reeled  under  this  gusty  blast,  but  recovered 
himself.  "You'll  be  coming  to  me  for  help  inside  of 
twenty-four  hours,  and  you'll  get  it  for  the  sake  of  Nora 
and  the  kids.  Good-night." 

And  vaulting  to  his  saddle  he  rode  away,  leaving 
Kelly  bewildered  and  a  little  ashamed  of  his  outburst. 

"Was  he  intoxicated?"  asked  Ann,  as  Matt  re-en 
tered  the  cabin. 

The  old  miner  shook  his  big  head  in  mystification. 

"Drunk  or  sober,  he's  too  flighty  for  the  Kellys.  He 
slips  out  o'  me  hand  like  sand." 


XXV 

A    Day    of  Action 

A^AIN  Ann  Rupert  found  herself  confronting  a 
question  of  life  and  death,  and  a  sense  of  her  own 
weakness  and  dependence  brought  her  very  near  to  the 
resolute  young  man  whose  silent  presence  comforted 
her  during  the  long  hours  of  watching.  The  knowledge 
that;  he  was  there  within  call,  ready  to  serve  her  to 
the  outrance,  rendered  her  vigilance  less  lonely.  Dr. 
Braide's  manner  towards  her  had  also  changed. 
was  evident  that  he  considered  Raymond  an  accepted 
lover.  Therefore,  he  no  longer  paid  court,  and  his  care 
of  the  boy  remained  absorbedly  professional, 
spoke  with  positiveness  of  his  ability  to  check  the 
fever,  and  this  confidence  reached  and  influenced  Ann, 
though  she  could  not  put  away  a  sense  of  guilt  and  a 
weight  of  fear. 

Louis  came  to  himself  just  before  midnight,  and 
recognized  her;  and  though  his  breath  was  labored 
and  his  face  lined  with  suffering,  it  was  good  to  feel 
his  familiar  self  reaching  out  to  her  from  his  house  of 

pain. 

"How  did  you  get  here?"  he  asked. 

"I  drove  with  Dr.  Braide." 

"I'm  pretty  sick.  I'm  glad  you  came,  sis,"  and  he 
put  his  hand  feebly  into  hers.  "Where's  Rob?" 

380 


A    Day    of   Action 

"He's  sleeping.  You  must  be  quiet  now,  or  you'll 
wake  him." 

"He's   been  good  to  me." 

"I  know  he  has,  laddie." 

"So  was  Jack.  I  was  awful  hungry,  and  I  was  so 
cold—" 

"  Sh !  dearest , ' '  she  pleaded ; ' '  don 't  talk  now.  Go  to 
sleep." 

"I  don't  want  to  sleep.  I've  slept  enough.  It 
makes  my  head  ache  worse." 

Ann  glanced  at  Braide,  who  came  and  bent  above  the 
boy.  His  voice  was  most  admirably  firm,  yet  gentle, 
as  he  began:  "You  want  to  get  out  of  here  soon,  don't 
you?"  The  boy  nodded.  "  Very  well  then;  you  must 
be  quiet  and  do  exactly  as  we  tell  you.  Sleep  is  good 
for  you.  Besides,  your  sister  needs  rest,  and  you  don't 
want  to  keep  her  awake." 

In  the  end  he  prevailed,  and  the  boy  ceased  to  groan 
and  twist,  and  at  last  slept;  but  Ann  refused  to  go  to 
bed.  Her  anxiety  and  the  many  questions  pressing 
to  be  answered  engaged  her  so  deeply  that  she  felt  no 
need  of  sleep.  Towards  midnight,  Braide,  in  despair  of 
inducing  her  to  sleep,  stretched  himself  in  a  low  chair 
and  fell  into  a  doze. 

It  was  exactly  two  o'clock  when  a  single  gun 
shot  rang  out  sharply,  like  the  voice  of  a  sentinel 
questioning  the  silent  night.  As  the  girl  listened 
tensely,  three  others,  deeper-throated,  answered  in  quick 
succession.  Then  silence  again  intervened  for  a  mo 
ment,  only  to  be  torn  by  a  fusillade — a  rat-tat-tat  of 
assault — which  brought  Braide  to  his  feet. 

Ann  hurried  to  Raymond,  calling,  sharply, ' '  Rob,  they 
are  shooting!  Don't  you  hear  them?  Quick!  Quick!" 

381 


Hesper 

Raymond  rose  to  his  feet  dizzily  and  looked  at  her 
blankly,  the  mist  of  sleep  thick  in  his  brain.  Other 
shots  and  cries  followed,  and  though  faint  and  far,  they 
cleared  his  vision.  Catching  a  belt  of  cartridges  from 
the  wall,  and  turning  to  Braide,  he  sternly  asked,  "Can 
you  shoot?" 

Before  Braide  could  answer  another  shrill  chorus  of 
yells,  fierce  as  the  outcry  of  wolves,  arose,  a  vivid 
light  filled  the  room,  and  a  second  later  a  dull  concus 
sion  shook  the  earth  beneath  their  feet.  Ann  shrank 
and  cowered,  but  Raymond,  menacingly  quiet,  re 
marked  :  ' '  Well,  our  turn  has  come.  They've  blown  up 
our  shaft -house." 

"Oh  no!"  cried  Ann.  "They  wouldn't  do  that. 
They  daren't  do  that." 

"That's  what  they've  done,"  he  bitterly  assured  her. 
Then  a  thought  entered  his  mind  which  staggered  him. 
"The  men — the  men  were  in  the  mine!"  he  shouted, 
and  rushed  into  the  darkness. 

Ann  heard  his  blows  upon  the  door  of  the  other 
cabin  as  he  called:  "Boys,  roll  out!  The  power-house 
is  blown  up!  The  men  are  in  the  mine!  Quick,  out 
with  you!  Buckle  your  guns!" 

Then  the  girl  recognized  Kelly's  great  voice;  he  was 
calling  as  he  ran,  "Rob,  are  ye  there?" 

"Yes,  I'm  rousing  the  boys." 

"It's  the  shaft-house." 

"It  looks  that  way." 

"And  the  men,  lad,  the  men?" 

"I  don't  know,  Matt,  I've  just  got  on  my  feet." 

"May  the  fires  o'  hell  blister  the  bones  of  the 
man — " 

So  much  Ann  heard  before  the  sound  of  their  feet 
382 


A    Day    of  Action 

died  away  down  the  path.  The  sleepers  in  the  bunk- 
house  began  to  rumble  and  clatter  about  on  the  bare 
floors.  One  by  one  they  emerged,  slamming  the  door 
behind  them.  The  distant  wailing  of  Mrs.  Kelly's 
scared  children  added  a  poignant  note  of  fear,  and 
a  moment  later  the  little  mother  herself  came  flying 
across  the  yard  in  her  bare  feet,  her  face  white  and 
distorted. 

"Oh,  saints  above!  What  have  they  done  now? 
Are  you  hurt?  What  is  it  all  about?" 

Ann  caught  her  by  the  arms.  "  Where  are  your 
shoes?  You  must  go  back  instantly;  you  can  do  no 
good.  They  have  blown  up  the  mine." 

"Mother  o'  God!  What  mine?  Our  mine?  Why 
should  they  do  that?  Oh,  the  fiends!  What's  the 
light?  Is  the  mill  burning?" 

Braide,  from  the  doorway,  called  out,  "Yes,  the 
wreckage  is  ablaze;  the  men  are  fighting  it." 

Once  outside  the  door  the  women  could  see  the 
flames  growing  each  moment  in  power,  licking  with 
avid  tongues  at  the  confused  mass  of  splintered  beams, 
and  on  the  curtain  of  red  light  the  forms  of  Kelly 
and  Raymond  played  in  silhouette,  as  they  strove 
furiously  against  the  destroyer.  Their  workmen  soon 
joined  them,  and  each  moment  some  hastening  rescuer 
hurtled  past  the  open  door,  and,  as  he  ran,  cursed 
in  bitter  frenzy. 

"Ann!"  called  Louis  from  the  bed.  Faint  as  it 
was,  the  girl  heard  his  cry  and  hurried  to  his  side. 

"Yes,  I'm  here,  laddie.  What  do  you  want?  How 
do  you  feel?" 

"My  head  aches  so.  I  can't  breathe  good.  He 
moaned.  "Oh,  dear,  I'm  so  hot."  The  voice  of 

383 


Hesper 

his  anguish  stung  Ann  to  the  soul.  With  a  sign  to 
Nora  commanding  silence,  she  closed  the  door,  in  the 
hope  that  no  sound  from  the  burning  mine  would 
penetrate  to  the  bedside.  If  at  that  moment  she 
could  have  set  her  foot  on  the  swarming  camp  as  on 
a  nest  of  vermin  she  would  have  done  it,  so  valueless 
were  their  lives  in  her  indignation  and  despair.  Of 
such  revenges  she  had  read ;  now  here  they  were,  break 
ing  forth  at  her  feet  like  fountains  of  blood  and  fire, 
imperilling  the  lives  of  innocent  women  and  children. 

Nora  hurried  back  to  her  cabin,  while  Braide 
dropped  some  helpful  drug  upon  the  boy's  tongue. 
When  his  patient  had  grown  quiet,  the  young  phy 
sician  said:  "If  you  are  not  afraid,  I  will  go  down. 
Some  one  may  be  hurt  and  my  help  required." 

"Go;  I  am  not  afraid,"  she  commanded.  "Only, 
remember  your  first  duty  is  here." 

"I  do  not  forget  that,"  he  answered.  But  even 
as  he  was  collecting  his  outer  clothing  and  his  medi 
cines,  Raymond  flung  the  door  open  and  entered. 
His  hands  were  blackened  and  bleeding,  his  head 
was  bare,  and  on  his  face  was  a  look  that  thrilled  the 
girl.  "Doctor,  three  wounded  men  are  coming  up 
the  hill — they  must  be  made  comfortable.  Ann,  you 
would  better  go  back  to  Kelly's;  these  victims  must 
be  sheltered  here,  and  they  are  not  pleasant  to  see." 

Ann  felt  herself  diminishing  in  power  and  impor 
tance  as  he  spoke.  His  voice  came  from  the  man's 
world — harsh,  inflexible — but  she  uttered  a  protest: 
"Louis!" 

His  face  softened  and  his  hand  went  to  his  brow. 
"I  forgot;  you  are  right,  we  must  not  endanger  him. 
I  will  have  the  men  taken  to  the  other  cabin." 

3S4 


A    Day    of   Action 

"Are  the  men  in  the  mine  all  dead?" 

"We  can't  tell.  The  engineer  and  some  of  the 
men  on  the  dump  were  warned  and  escaped:  The 
rest  are  below  and  out  of  our  reach.  We  are  working 
desperately  to  subdue  the  flames,  but  we  are  almost 
helpless  for  lack  of  water." 

"It  is  horrible!" 

His  voice  was  very  quiet  as  he  said,  "Munro 
shall  answer  for  this!" 

"Did  he  do  it?" 

"He  did  not  prevent  it!"  He  lifted  his  eyes  to 
the  sky.  "It  will  soon  be  light,  and  then  we  can  see 
to  work." 

He  turned  to  leave  without  further  explanation, 
but  Ann  called  to  him,  "Send  us  word  when  you 
can,  won't  you?" 

"As  soon  as  we  know  the  men  are  alive  I  will  come 
and  tell  you,"  he  promised,  and  hurried  away  into 
the  gray  dusk  of  the  dawn;  and  his  anger,  his  aloof 
ness,  his  furious  self-restraint  raised  him  in  the  esti 
mation  of  the  girl.  Gallantry  at  such  a  time  would 
have  been  as  noisome  as  drunken  laughter. 

And  as  she  watched  and  waited,  the  day  came 
leisurely,  laggardly,  over  the  hills,  and  swarms  of 
excited  men  and  slattern  women  poured  from  their 
shacks  and  tents  and  holes  in  the  rocks  to  acquire 
in  detail  the  news  of  this  midnight  assault  on  the 
leaders  of  "the  independents."  To  do  them  justice, 
even  the  most  virulent  unionists  were  for  the  mo 
ment  moved  to  sympathetic  denunciation.  The  de 
struction  of  property  was  one  thing  —  the  murder 
of  workmen  quite  another.  As  for  the  crews  of  the 
non-partisans,  they  were  ready  at  the  word  of  a. 
«  385 


Hesper 

leader  to  search  out  and  lynch  those  who  laid  the 
train  and  fired  the  fuse ;  but  to  all  of  these  Raymond 
gave  the  same  word  of  command,  "Save  the  men 
below." 

On  the  heels  of  this  tumult,  as  if  to  pile  Pelion  on 
Ossa,  messengers  came  shouting  through  the  sun 
rise:  "The  deputies  have  come!  The  sheriff's  army 
is  camped  on  the  park!" 

Instantly  the  throng  of  idle  sightseers  swept  back 
towards  the  town,  leaving  not  so  much  as  a  word  of 
well-wishing  to  stand  in  their  places.  The  ruin  of 
the  Kelly  mine  became  a  small  thing  to  them,  now 
that  the  real  battle  was  on. 

"Where  is  Jack  Munro?"  timorous  people  asked. 
"Where  are  the  vedettes?"  No  one  seemed  to  know, 
and  the  officers  of  the  union  were  in  a  panic. 

The  sheriff  had,  indeed,  stolen  a  march  on  Sky- 
Town,  and  was  only  waiting  for  daylight  to  discover 
his  enemy.  This  was  his  capital  mistake.  Had  he 
pushed  against  the  enemy  at  that  moment,  with  Munro 
and  his  men  still  on  a  wild-goose  chase  down  the  op 
posite  canon,  he  might  have  won  the  hill  in  a  blood 
less  charge;  but  even  as  he  dallied,  the  vedettes  came 
toiling  up  the  trail  from  the  south,  weary  but  full 
of  fight,  and  lined  out  on  the  northern  slope  with  the 
fort  at  their  backs.  And  so  at  last  the  two  forces  of 
disorder — of  passion  and  prejudice — were  set  face  to 
face.  Battle  was  now  inevitable. 

The  storm  that  had  muttered  and  rumbled  and 
shifted  ground,  and,  dissipated  itself  again  and  again 
in  echoing  menace,  had  gathered  head  once  more 
and  was  about  to  break  in  tumult.  The  "yellow- 
legs"  had  marched.  They  had  arrived.  They  fronted 

386 


A    Day    of   Action 

the  "red-necks,"  and  their  little,  white  tents  gleamed 
like  gravestones  on  the  russet  sod.  In  the  darkness 
of  the  early  night  they  had  left  the  valley,  and,  to  the 
sound  of  sobbing  and  cheers,  had  entered  upon  their 
winding  upward  course  to  the  clouds  and  the  snows. 
Only  Raymond's  warning  had  saved  them  from  defeat 
and  disaster  in  the  canon  to  the  south. 

Yet  now  that  they  were  encamped  in  sight  of  the 
enemy  they  hesitated,  for  their  leaders  had  been  told 
that  the  entire  hill-side  was  planted  with  dynamite — 
strange  bulbs  likely  to  spring  up  at  any  moment  in 
destructive  white  clouds  of  bloom;  and  there  was 
further  menace — the  muzzle  of  a  great  gun  projected 
across  the  rude  embankment  on  the  hill  and  its  dark 
lips  seemed  to  utter  a  solemn  warning;  while  above 
and  beyond,  and  more  deterrent  still,  were  thousands 
of  desperate  men  massed  against  the  sky. 

And  over  all  —  over  Raymond  and  Kelly,  dusty 
and  bleeding,  working  with  their  men  to  rescue  the 
imprisoned  miners  deep  below  —  over  the  swarming 
groups  of  shivering  women  on  the  hill,  over  the  bitter 
and  savage  ranks  of  the  vedettes,  over  the  whole  great, 
silent  range,  the  sunlight  poured  in  splendor — warm 
and  golden  as  October — and  a  soft  wind  from  the 
west  brought  rose-tinted  clouds  sailing  like  gentle 
doves  of  peace  from  the  far-off  Crestones,  impassive 
and  serene.  "What  is  it  all  about,  my  little  men?" 
Mogalyon  seemed  to  ask,  concerned  as  he  was  with 
the  affairs  of  geologic  cycles  and  the  return  of  waters 
to  the  sea. 


XXVI 
A    Last    Appeal 

AT  sunrise  Raymond  reported  to  Ann,  his  face  a 
little  softened.  "The  dynamiter  Baker  shot  has 
died,  but  our  men  are  going  to  live,  the  doctor  says." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  that.  What  of  those  in  the 
mine  ?  Are  they  released  ? ' ' 

"No;  but  the  fire  is  out  and  we  have  cleared  the 
mouth  of  the  shaft.  The  first  level  is  blocked  with 
rocks  and  beams.  The  murderers  must  have  lowered 
a  bomb  into  the  mine  with  deliberate  intent  to  kill." 

"It  is  horrible  to  think  of  them  down  there  in  the 
dark.  Did  you  hear  that  the  sheriff  had  arrived?" 

His  eyes  darkened.  "Yes,  the  fool !  Why  didn't  he 
attack  at  once.  Now  Munro  is  entrenched,  and  they 
are  challenging  each  other  like  crowds  of  school-boys. 
The  time  has  come  for  the  Governor  to  take  a  hand." 

"Will  he  do  so?" 

"He  must,  or  be  party  to  the  bloodiest  battle  ever 
seen  in  the  mountains.  But  I  must  go  back,"  he  said, 
and  turned  away  abruptly,  leaving  the  girl  with  a 
keen  sense  of  the  stress  and  bigness  of  his  life. 

He  was,  indeed,  badly  needed  at  the  mine,  for  only 
the  men  of  the  second  shift  and  a  few  of  the  crews  of 
Reese  and  Earle  remained  to  help.  Each  independent 
mine  was  held  to  be  in  equal  danger  and  to  require  the 

388 


A    Last    Appeal 

services  of  its  most  resolute  men;  and,  besides,  the  cer 
tainty  of  a  battle  had  drawn  away  the  more  excitable, 
even  of  their  own  men.  Kelly  was  working  like  a  Titan, 
and  his  presence,  his  concentration  of  effort,  inspired 
every  man  to  his  best. 

A  messenger  from  Carter  met  Raymond,  to  assure  him 
that  the  union  had  no  hand  in  the  outrage,  and  the 
young  miner  sternly  answered,  "As  soon  as  I  have 
rescued  my  men,  I  will  demand  that  the  officers  of  the 
union  have  something  to  do  with  finding  the  hyenas 
that  did  do  it." 

Munro  sent  a  letter  by  Frank  Brown,  wherein  he 
said,  "I  can't  leave  here — the  attack  may  begin  at  any 
moment;  but  I  am  on  the  trail,  and  when  I  discover  the 
scoundrels  I  will  deliver  them  to  justice." 

To  this  messenger  Raymond  said:  "Tell  Jack  I  want 
to  see  him  at  the  earliest  moment.  This  is  not  a  matter 
for  long-range  adjustment.  I  want  to  talk  with  him." 

Brown,  with  true  cow-boy  unconcern,  grinned  and 
said:  "Well,  you  see,  Rob,  Jack's  busy  just  now. 
They's  a  ball  on,  and  he's  floor-manager  for  our  side." 

Raymond  was  in  no  mood  to  respond  to  humor. 
"Very  well.  Say  to  him  that  when  I  have  dug  my  men 
out,  I  will  come  to  him,"  and  something  in  the  tone 
of  this  answer  stopped  the  grin  on  the  messenger's 
face. 

Reporters  drifted  up,  made  hasty  notes,  and  passed 
on,  lured  by  the  more  important  material  disclosed  in 
the  opposition  of  ranked  and  ready  warriors  on  the  hill. 
Only  Dolan  stayed,  eager  and  sympathetic,  fetching 
coffee  from  the  cook-house  and  lending  such  other  aid 
as  he  could — so  deeply  concerned  with  this  tragic  deed 
that  he  seemed  wastefully  negligent  of  his  own  affairs. 

389 


Hesper 

Seizing  an  opportunity  for  a  private  word,  he  began,  in 
a  low  voice:  "Rob,  I  know  who  led  this  thing.  The 
union  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  It  was  done  by  a  lot 
of  Curran's  spittoon-cleaners.  The  fellow  that  Baker 
killed  is  from  the  Springs.  I've  seen  him  round  Cur 
ran's." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"I  know  it.  When  you  want  me  to  tell  you  what  I 
know,  I'll  do  it — only  not  now.  Wait  till  the  militia 
takes  possession." 

"Will  the  militia  come?  Has  the  Governor  ordered 
it  out?" 

"He's  got  to  order  'em  out  now.  He's  a  dead  duck, 
anyway." 

Raymond  returned  to  his  work  beside  Kelly,  and 
together  they  tore  at  the  rocks  and  beams — magnif 
icent  in  their  leadership.  Kelly's  head  was  bare,  his 
face  covered  with  soot,  his  arms  bleeding,  but  his  great 
voice  rang  out  like  a  trumpet.  The  blackened  timbers 
were  cleared  at  last,  but  a  painful  delay  intervened 
while  a  windlass  was  being  brought  from  another 
shaft. 

An  hour  later  all  was  ready,  and  into  the  heavy,  shift 
ing  smoke,  which  rose  from  the  smouldering  debris  at 
the  first  level,  Kelly  and  his  young  partner  descended 
to  extinguish  the  burning  timbers,  to  clear  away  the 
fallen  rock,  and  to  signal  to  the  imprisoned  men  below. 

Again  and  again  they  were  forced  to  lie  flat  on  their 
faces  with  their  lips  touching  the  earth  in  order  to 
breathe;  but  at  last  the  smouldering  material  was  all 
hoisted,  the  mine  cleared,  and  they  were  able  to  look 
about  them,  dizzy  but  exultant.  The  iron  beams  had 
caught  and  held  a  huge  mass  of  rock  which  the  con- 

390 


A    Last    Appeal 

cussion  had  shaken  from  the  mouth  of  the  mine,  and  to 
dig  through  this  was  the  task  that  now  confronted 
them ;  but  the  air  of  the  shaft  having  cleared,  volunteers 
thickened,  and  the  exhausted  leaders  were  able  to  rest 
their  aching  limbs  and  listen  for  signals. 

They  were  mightily  cheered  by  the  faint  but  un 
mistakable  sound  of  knocking.  The  imprisoned  ones 
were  calling  in  the  well-tried  fashion — by  hammering 
on  the  rock  with  their  sledges.  They  beat  cheerfully, 
as  if  seeking  to  reassure  their  rescuers. 

"Listen!"  cried  Kelly,  his  grotesquely  be-daubed 
face,  lighting  into  a  gleeful  smile.  "They're  all  right. 
I  can  tell  that  by  their  stroke.  Ye  see  'tis  not  like  an 
explosion  from  fire-damp;  they've  plenty  of  fresh  air. 
The  mine  is  small,  and  has  no  gas  in  it." 

An  hour  later,  they  could  hear  the  voices  of  those 
beneath,  and  it  was  hardly  more  than  mid-day  before 
they  began  to  lift  them  out  two  by  two  in  the  big 
bucket,  and  when  they  were  all  assembled  on  the  sur 
face  in  the  bright  sunlight,  the  worn  and  weary  rescu 
ers  looked  to  be  the  victims  of  the  dynamiters  rather 
than  those  whom  the  bomb  had  sealed  up  below. 
Raymond  and  Kelly  were  especially  damaged,  almost 
unrecognizable  through  their  covering  of  soot  and  clay, 
but  they  were  jubilant. 

Ann,  hearing  their  shouts,  came  down  the  path  with 
Nora  to  meet  them.  Kelly's  eyes  were  dim  with  tears, 
and  Ann's  heart  went  out  to  him  as  he  shouted,  "They 
are  all  here,  and  unhurt." 

"But  you  are  hurt?"  she  asked  of  Raymond,  with 
anxious,  timorous  voice,  peering  at  his  torn  and  trem 
bling  hands. 

"No — oniy  tired."     He  became  almost  gay  now  in 

391 


Hesper 

reaction.  "Oh,  the  relief  when  I  knew  the  boys  were 
all  right!  The  shaft  looked  worse  than  it  was,  with 
that  pitchy  smoke  rolling  up.  But  we're  all  right  now. 
How  is  the  patient?"  he  asked,  as  they  started  towards 
the  cabin  together. 

"He  is  awake,  but  his  pulse  is  still  rapid  and  he  is 
very  restless." 

"What  does  the  doctor  say?" 

"  He  insists  there  is  no  danger.  I  think  he  means  it. 
But,  oh,  that  poor  boy  is  so  sick!" 

He  looked  down  at  her  tenderly.  "These  are 
stern  experiences  for  you.  I  wish  there  was  a  way  out 
of  them.  If  only  Louis  could  be  moved." 

"Do  not  trouble  about  me,"  she  said.  "I've  been 
all  over  the  problem,  and  I've  made  an  end  of  fretting. 
I  accept  all  this  as  my  discipline.  All  the  rest  of  my 
life  has  been  wearisomely  uneventful.  Now  I  am  to 
take  my  share  of  trouble. ' '  She  checked  herself.  ' '  This 
will  be  a  very  serious  loss  to  you,  will  it  not?" 

He  strove  to  answer  lightly.  "Oh  yes;  but  our 
vein  is  there  just  the  same.  Luckily  they  couldn't 
blow  that  away." 

At  the  door  of  the  bungalow  he  turned.  "I  must 
leave  you  for  a  time.  I  must  repair  damages" — he 
looked  at  hij  hands  and  arms — "and  I  want  to  talk 
with  my  men." 

"I  hope  you  are  not  going  into  this  battle?" 
His  voice  suddenly  acquired  passion.  "I  must 
do  something.  I  can't  sit  here  and  wait  for  these 
devils  to  dynamite  me  out  of  life!"  He  caught 
his  breath,  and  ended  in  a  calmer  tone,  "No,  I  shall 
not  go  into  the  fight ;  but  I  hope  to  take  a  hand  in 
preventing  bloodshed." 

392 


A    Last    Appeal 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "Of  course,  Louis 
and  I  are  small  things  in  the  midst  of  this  warfare, 
and  I  suppose  it  is  your  duty  to  do  something;  but 
you  must  remember  your  mother;  you  owe  it  to  h*r 
not  to  needlessly  expose  yourself  to  danger." 

He  turned,  with  an  almost  irresistible  desire  to  take 
her  in  his  arms.  "  It  is  to  protect  you  and  Louis  that 
I  must  act.  Don't  mistake  me,"  he  added,  quickly. 
"I  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  are  in  danger— you 
must  not  be  alarmed." 

She  saw  that  he  had  misspoken  and  that  a  deep 
anxiety  lay  at  his  heart.  "I  am  not  afraid,"  she 
said;  "I  can't  make  it  seem  riot;  I  can't  even  con 
nect'  this  outer  tumult  with  our  quiet  life  here  in  the 
bungalow.  Go  about  what  seems  best  for  you  to  do. 
I  have  been  a  hinderance  to  you  from  the  beginning- 
He  passionately  interrupted  her.  "If  I  could  take 
you  and  Louis  out  of  this  accursed  camp  I  would  do 
it  this  moment.  I  would  sacrifice  my  mine  with  joy; 
but  he  cannot  be  moved,  and  we  must  keep  his  room 
quiet  and  peaceful.  That  is  my  chief  duty,  now  that 
my  men  are  safe." 

"Go  to  your  luncheon,"  she  said,  gently;  "you  are 
hungry  and  tired."  There  was  that  in  both  her  look 
and  tone  which  made  an  answer  an  impossibility. 
To  save  himself  from  folly  he  turned  abruptly ^ away. 

He  found  his  men  in  the  barrack,  discussing  with 
characteristic  calmness  the  general  situation  while 
waiting  for  their  dinner.  And  when  Perry  shouted 
"grub  pile"  in  cow-camp  phrase,  each  man  bustled 
to  his  place  with  cheerful  clatter.  Raymond  drew  up 
with  the  rest,  and  for  a  few  minutes  no  word  spoken 
referred  to  the  disaster.  The  master's  face  was 

393 


Hesper 

grave  with  his  life's  problem,  and  the  men  remained 
silent  for  sympathy.  They  were  rough  fellows,  ac 
customed  to  keen  winds  and  crusty  fare,  but  they 
respected  trouble;  they  waited  for  him  to  speak. 
Meanwhile  they  ate  like  hungry  troopers  expecting 
the  bugle. 

As  the  first  man,  well  filled,  pushed  back  his  chair, 
Raymond  called  out:  "Boys,  I  want  to  say  a  word 
before  any  of  you  go  out.  A  council  of  war  is  neces 
sary  at  this  minute." 

Those  who  had  risen  took  seats  again,  and  all  faced 
his  way.  As  he  looked  at  them  his  throat  filled  with 
a  realization  of  their  loyal  service,  and  he  could  not 
find  voice  for  a  few  moments,  but  sat  with  bowed 
head,  rolling  a  bit  of  bread  between  his  fingers.  At 
last  he  resolutely  cleared  his  throat  and  began,  harshly: 
"Well,  boys,  the  game  halts  right  here.  You  see 
where  Kelly  &  Raymond  are  —  they're  flat.  We've 
got  a  good  mine  if  we  could  work  it,  but  we  can't. 
Just  about  every  dollar  we  had  to  spare  went  into 
that  machinery,  and  our  ore  shipments  were  just  be 
ginning.  I've  been  doing  a  little  figuring,  and  I  find 
we  can  pretty  near  pay  all  that's  due  you,  but  we  can't 
do  any  more.  If  this  strike  were  settled  we  might 
get  somebody  to  come  in  and  help  us  put  up  a  new 
power  plant,  but  as  things  shape  up  at  this  present 
time,  we're  'up  a  stump,'  as  they  say  back  in  Ohio. 
So  I  guess  we'll  have  to  let  you  go."  There  was  a 
movement  among  the  men  which  he  felt  as  a  pro 
test,  but  he  continued:  "I  hate  to  do  this,  especially 
now  in  the  winter,  but  you  can  see  how  it  is.  Even 
if  we  had  the  credit  we  couldn't  get  the  machinery 
on  the  grounds.  If  I  were  in  your  places  I  would  go 

394 


A    Last   Appeal 

to  Reese  and  the  other  independents  and  stick  by 
'em,  help  them  fight  this  thing  through  on  fair-play 
lines." 

His  slight  pause  brought  no  response.  When  he 
began  again  his  voice  was  softened.  "And,  boys, 
ride  up  and  tell  Matt  a  good  word.  He's  hard  hit. 
He's  got  to  that  time  o'  life  when  a  man  don't  like  to 
be  thrown.  He's  been  planning  to  kind  o'  sit  back 
and  let  us  younger  fellows  round  up  the  stock,  and 
it's  sure  hard  lines  on  the  old  man — " 

His  voice  trembled  dangerously,  and  he  was  forced 
to  stop. 

The  tension  was  eased  away  by  Nary,  one  of  the 
older  men,  who  broke  out  with  deep-lunged  profanity 
in  order  to  conceal  his  good  heart. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  how  the  rest  of  you  feel,  but 
I  wr^nt  to  turn  right  in  and  put  this  mine  into  shape 
again,  and  lynch  the  sons  o'  dogs  that  blew  us  up!" 

"That's  the  ticket!" 

"Now  you're  getting  wise." 

Nary  was  encouraged.  "They's  a  whole  lot  of  work 
we  can  do  ourselves  towards  putting  up  that  power 
house." 

"Why,  sure  thing!"  said  Silsbee. 

"I'm   a  jackass   carpenter   myself,"    Nary    added. 

"You're  a  jackass,  all  right — I  don't  know  about 
the  carpenter  part,"  put  in  a  wag,  and  the  tension  of 
the  moment  was  relieved  by  laughter. 

"That's  mighty  white  of  you,  boys,"  responded 
Raymond;  "and  if  I  could  see  any  way  to  do  it,  I'd 
take  your  offer,  but  I  don't.  However,  if  you  want 
to  stay  in  the  shack  for  a  day  or  two,  do  so;  things 
may  clear  up  by  that  time." 

395 


Hesper 

One  of  the  men  who  had  been  imprisoned  spoke 
with  quiet  menace:  "Well,  some  of  us  who've  been 
underground  want  to  do  something  besides  wait— - 
we  want  to  fight.  We  think  we  know  the  buzzards 
that  threw  the  powder  into  us,  and  we're  hot  in  the 
neck.  If  you  say  the  word,  we'll  get  a  crowd  to 
gether  and  go  up  and  demand  satisfaction.  We're 
not  in  the  habit  of  allowing  a  lot  of  sneaking  coyotes 
to  do  us  like  that." 

To  this  several  shouted  assent,  "Let's  go  and  race 
'em  up!" 

"We  know  the  beasts  that  did  it." 

Raymond  lifted  his  hand.  "Hold  on,  boys;  don't 
be  too  quick  on  the  trigger.  Keep  cool  till  I  ride  up  on 
the  hill  and  take  a  look  around,  and  have  a  little  talk 
with  Munro.  We  must  rally  all  the  independents, 
which  will  take  time;  and,  besides,  you  must  remember 
I  have  a  very  sick  boy  on  my  hands,  and  there  is  Baker, 
who  needs  care.  Don't  rush.  Let  me  go  up  and  see 
what  the  sheriff  seems  likely  to  do.  As  I've  told  you 
before,  I've  no  theory  about  the  labor  question.  I 
never  was  up  against  it  before,  and  I'm  a  little  uncer 
tain.  I've  always  believed  in  the  best  man  winning. 
I  picked  you  fellows  because  you  were  likely  chaps. 
I'm  paying  you  the  highest  wages  going,  because  you 
earn  it.  You're  satisfied,  you  say,  and  I  don't  see  why 
we  are  not  privileged  to  go  ahead  in  our  own  way.  I 
haven't  felt  any  need  of  going  into  this  fight  for  the 
benefit  of  the  crowd  till  now.  It  looks  now  as  though 
we  should  take  a  hand.  Anyhow,  we'll  give  Munro 
another  chance  to  do  us  justice,  and  if  he  don't — then — 
well,  we'll  try  some  other  plan."  He  shook  off  this 
disagreeable  cloak  of  doubt.  "But  be  that  as  it  may, 

396 


A    Last    Appeal 

boys,  I  shall  never  forget  the  good  work  you've  done 
for  me,  when  you  knew  the  crowd  was  against  you. 
It  was  noble,  and  I'm  'powerful  obleeged,'  as  they 
say  in  Missouri;  and  if  we  ever  open  that  mine,  I  shall 
consider  you  partners  with  me  in  it." 

The  men  rose  and  went  out  two  by  two,  but  several 
of  them  came  to  him  to  say:  "We  mean  business,  Rob. 
Say  the  word,  and  we'll  go  up  and  get  the  gang  that 
did  for  us.  We'll  rope  and  bind  the  whole  outfit,  if 
you  say  so." 

He  was  again  in  deep  thought,  and  only  absently  re 
plied:  "Don't  be  hasty,  boys.  Wait  till  I  have  a  little 
time  to  work  out  a  plan." 

At  last  only  Perry  remained  in  the  room,  and  Ray 
mond,  perceiving  him,  called  out,  "Well,  Perry,  what 
are  you  going  to  do?" 

"Stay  with  you,"  he  answered. 

Raymond's  face  clouded.  "I  wish  you  were  down 
on  the  ranch;  you're  in  a  cold  climate  up  here." 

"I  wish  you'd  stayed  there,  too,"  cried  the  boy, 
passionately.  "Let's  go  away;  I  don't  like  it  here. 
It's  no  good,  Rob;  they  are  trying  to  kill  you." 

Raymond  sighed.  "It's  all  a  big  gamble,  but  I 
can't  give  it  up.  I've  got  to  win  out."  He  was  talk 
ing  half  to  himself,  half  to  the  boy.  "I  don't  know 
whether  I  can  pay  you  full  wages  or  not,  but  if  you'll 
stay  I'll  see  what  can  be  done  for  you.  The  men  will 
remain  here  for  a  few  days,  anyway,  and  you  and  Foo 
can  go  on  just  as  you  are,  for  the  present." 

The  boy's  dark  face  lit  with  pleasure.  "Si,  senor," 
he  gayly  said. 

Raymond  found  Kelly  bending  over  Baker,  his  great 
face  seamed  with  sympathetic  lines.  "Broken  bones 

397 


Hesper 

at  your  age,"  he  was  saying,  "are  soon  mended.   You'll 
be  in  the  saddle  all  right  for  the  spring  round-up." 

Raymond  added  a  reassuring  word.  "Good  thing 
we  had  a  real,  city-built  doctor  round  the  shack,  don't 
you  think?" 

Baker  smiled  faintly  and  said,  "How's  the  kid?" 

"He's  resting  better.  The  doctor  is  hopeful  of  the 
whole  bunch  of  you." 

As  they  stepped  out  into  the  warm,  afternoon  sun, 
Kelly,  with  a  jocular  note  in  his  voice,  remarked, 
"Well,  Robbie,  we're  gents  at  leisure;  nothing  to  do 
now  but  play  the  nurse"  —  here  his  voice  swiftly 
changed — "or  do  battle." 

"If  it  were  not  for  the  women  and  the  sick,  I'd 
fight.  We  have  nothing  to  lose  now,  and  the  boys 
are  hot  for  it.  Have  you  been  up  the  street?" 

"No,  I  have  not." 

"  I  don't  see  what  we  can  do,  with  these  two  wounded 
men  and  the  boy  and  the  women  on  our  hands.  Matt, 
the  real  heart  of  this  opposition  is  now  in  one  man.  If 
he  were  taken  away,  these  rowdy  miners  would  scatter 
like  grouse." 

Kelly  turned  quickly.     "You  mean  Munro?" 

"  I  do !     I'm  going  up  to  have  an  interview  with  him . ' ' 

Kelly  laid  a  big  hand  on  his  arm.  "You're  takin'  a 
big  risk;  let  me  go  instead." 

"  No,  you  must  stay  here.  I  am  going,  and  I  am  go 
ing  unarmed.  I  am  safer  with  empty  hands,  Matt. 
They  will  not  shoot  an  unarmed  man." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  These  wild-eyed  Dagoes 
will  mob  a  man  with  picks." 

"No  matter,"  the  young  man  stubbornly  answered, 
"I'm  going  to  make  one  more  appeal  to  Munro." 

398 


A    Last    Appeal 

Kelly  was  bitter.  "  Lave  him  fight.  His  heart  is  set 
on  it.  'Twill  cool  his  blood  to  open  his  veins.  Why 
trouble  about  it  at  all?  Sure  we've  made  wan  appeal 
after  the  other  from  the  start,  and  what  good  has  it 
done?  We're  deeper  in  trouble  than  ever.  The  work 
for  us  to  do  is  to  find  the  men  that  destroyed  our 
mine,  and  set  'em  swingin'." 

"We  can  do  nothing  till  the  strike  is  settled,  Matt. 
We  can  neither  raise  money  nor  safely  employ  men, 
and  we  can't  afford  to  be  spectators.  It's  our  business 
to  step  in  and  take  a  fall  out  of  one  or  the  other  of  these 
leaders.  The  neutral  business  is  played  out.  Either 
we  cut  in  and  help  Munro  stand  the  sheriff  off,  or  we 
join  the  sheriff  and  whip  Munro." 

"Ayther  is  the  divil's  own  work." 

"  I  know  it  is,  and  whichever  we  do,  we  endanger  the 
women,  your  lads,  and  our  sick;  but  we're  up  against 
it.  I  would  urge  you  to  take  your  family  and  get  out, 
but  that  would  leave  Ann  alone  here  with  a  very  sick 
boy.  We  could  rally  the  independents  and  make  a 
fight,  but  that  would  endanger  the  ones  we  are  bound 
to  defend." 

Kelly  looked  away  over  the  pleasant,  sunlit  world 
gloomily.  "All  that  is  true,  Rob;  'tis  beyond  the 
Kelly  wits.  'Tis  not  me  nature  to  retreat,  but  could 
the  boy  be  moved,  I'd  say  fer  once  in  me  life,  '  Matt 
Kelly,  put  your  hand  over  your  mouth  and  sit 
down.'" 

It  was  hard  to  realize  that  any  danger  lay  concealed 
in  the  golden  mist  of  that  silent  afternoon.  The  high 
peaks  dreamed  like  gray  Simons  on  towers  of  medita 
tion.  The  sparse  clouds  were  soft,  slow,  summer-like. 
The  near-by  snow-drifts  had  sunk  into  the  ground. 

399 


Hesper 

Nothing  remained  to  remind  the  observer  of  winter 
save  the  russet  grass. 

The  two  men  stood  in  silence  for  a  long  time ;  then 
Kelly  broke  forth:  "My  curse  on  Mackay!  Had  anny 
other  man  taken  the  change  in  hand  'twould  have  gone 
through;  but  he,  the  brass-bound,  double-jointed  mon 
key,  was  just  the  one  to  set  this  heU's-broth  boiling." 

"I  wish  I  were  a  good  Catholic,  too,"  laughed  Ray 
mond,  as  he  turned  away;  "I'd  add  my  curse  to  yours." 

Mounting  his  horse,  Raymond  rode  rapidly  out 
along  the  ridge  towards  the  hill  on  which  the  forti 
fication  stood.  He  passed  now  and  then  a  group  of 
men  who  knew  him,  and  while  one  or  two  greeted  him 
pleasantly,  all  the  others  met  his  glance  with  menace. 
He  felt  the  hot  breath  of  their  hate,  but  passed  on  with 
out  haste,  regretting  his  action  in  leaving  his  re 
volvers  behind  him.  In  the  long  years  of  life  on  the 
ranges  of  the  West  he  had  come  to  depend  upon 
his  gun  as  a  Cornishman  upon  his  fist,  or  an  Irish 
man  upon  his  shillalah ;  and  felt  helpless  and  ill  at  ease 
without  it. 

The  camp  had  eaten  its  mid-day  meal — for  even 
in  times  of  war  men  must  eat;  the  miners  had  hastily 
devoured  their  rough  food  and  were  swarming  on  the 
hill-side  overlooking  the  sheriff's  encampment.  Every 
movement  of  the  little  army  below  was  noted  and 
commented  upon  with  boisterous  laughter;  the  in 
vading  force  seemed  so  ludicrously  inadequate  for 
the  work  its  leaders  had  so  confidently  cut  out  for  it. 
Far  over  to  the  left,  on  a  smooth,  low  hill,  a  throng  of 
spectators  from  Bozle  was  spread  like  a  moth-eaten 
rug,  and  every  soul  was  aquiver  with  impatience  for 
the  drama  to  begin. 

400 


A    Last    Appeal 

The  vedettes  were  bivouacked  in  a  small  grove  of 
firs  to  the  left  and  a  little  below  the  fort  (which  was 
merely  a  log  corral  banked  with  dirt),  and  Munro 
was  directing  the  shovel  brigade  at  work  on  the  walls 
of  the  redoubt,  which  was  growing  rapidly  under  the 
brisk  movement  of  chattering  miners. 

As  Raymond  neared  the  crowd  of  on  -  lookers  he 
recognized  Denver  Dan  and  one  or  two  other  horse 
men,  but  for  the  most  part  the  spectators  were  stran 
gers  and  plainly  hostile. 

He  had  drawn  rein  to  pass  to  the  left  when  Brock 
stepped  forth  on  foot  and  roughly  called  out : 

"What's  your  business  up  here?" 

"I  want  to  find  Munro." 

"Well,  you  go  back  to  your  shack  and  keep  out 
of  this." 

Raymond  smiled.  "When  did  you  become  road- 
master?" 

The  ruffian's  resentment  burst  out:  "You  keep 
out  of  here,  I  say.  You're  a  traitor  —  that's  what 
you  are — and  you  need  hangin'.  Do  you  think  you 
can  spy  round  here  and  go  and  report  your  findings 
to  Barnett?  Not  while  I'm  in  town." 

Denver  Dan  put  in  a  word.  "Now,  don't  be  a 
fool,  Brock;  you've  no  license  to  run  a  court-martial. 
Munro  will  attend  to  that  part  of  the  business." 

Brock  raised  his  voice  so  that  the  rapidly  gathering 
crowd  might  hear.  "Here's  the  spy  that  warned 
the  sheriff  not  to  come  on  the  freight  -  train ;  here's 
the  man  that  ruined  our  plans.  You  can't  deny 
that,"  he  said,  laying  a  hand  on  the  horse's  rein. 

"I  don't  intend  to  deny  it,"  replied  Raymond, 
facing  the  lowering  faces  of  the  close-packed  throng 
26  401 


Hesper 

as  a  mastiff  might  face  a  pack  of  coyotes;  "and,  what's 
more,  I  don't  intend  to  apologize  for  it."  His  prom 
ise  to  Ann  came  into  his  mind.  "I  must  be  pacific," 
he  resolved;  "  I  must  not  struggle."  Then,  very  quiet 
ly,  he  added:  "Take  your  hand  away,  Brock.  I  want 
to  ride  on." 

"Lynch  him!"  shouted  some  fellow  at  the  back. 
"Lynch  the  spy!" 

A  wave  of  gusty  wrath  swept  over  the  on-lookers. 
They  surged  towards  him  like  gray  wolves,  eager  for 
his  blood.  Another  of  the  leaders  seized  his  horse's  bit 
and  held  him  as  in  a  vise,  but  Raymond  turned  tow 
ards  the  horsemen  on  the  edge  of  the  mob.  "  Boys,  I'm 
in  trouble;  some  of  you  are  old  cattle-punchers.  I'm 
unarmed — I  haven't  so  much  as  a  penknife.  Stand 
these  fellows  off  and  give  me  a  show.  Let  me  have  a 
fighting  chance.  Dan,  call  Munro." 

Dan,  half-heartedly,  shouted  out,  "Hold  on,  boys, 
don't  crowd  the  man,"  and  attempted  to  spur  his 
horse  into  the  throng. 

"No,  you  don't,  Dan,"  cried  those  near  him.  "You 
stay  where  you  are.  We're  going  to  do  for  this  traitor 
right  here." 

The  citizens  of  the  peak  were  in  motion,  all  centring 
towards  Raymond  as  cattle  respond  to  the  wild  call  of 
a  steer  that  has  discovered  a  place  of  blood.  From 
fierce  mouths,  distorted  and  malevolent,  remorseless 
laughter  broke  forth.  "String  him  up!"  shouted  Brock, 
and  the  hearts  of  the  evil-doers  fused  together  like 
drops  of  mercury,  and  the  desire  to  kill  submerged 
every  other  motive. 

Raymond  had  been  in  danger  many  times  in  his 
life,  but  never  had  he  looked  down  into  such  hate- 

402 


A    Last    Appeal 


inflamed  faces  as  now  encircled  him.  The  old,  reck 
less  heart  came  back  to  him.  He  lifted  his  voice  in 
appeal.  "Have  I  a  friend  here?  If  I  have,  let  him 
throw  me  a  gun!  I  want  to  go  fighting!" 

"Here  you  are!"  called  a  stranger,  and  a  big,  glit 
tering  revolver  came  whirling  over  the  heads  of  the 
mob. 

Raymond  caught  it  deftly,  and  with  the  touch  of 
its  handle  to  his  palm  his  eyes  narrowed  and  his  white 
teeth  set:  "Now,  let  the  dance  begin!  By  the  Lord, 
some  of  you  will  cross  the  range  with  me!" 

Denver  Dan  attempted  a  diversion.  "Look  out, 
fellers;  here  comes  Jack!" 

Munro's  name  and  the  pistol  in  Raymond's  hand 
induced  a  pause.  The  foremost  of  the  assailants 
turned  towards  the  captain  of  the  vedettes,  riding 
swiftly  to  the  rescue.  "What's  going  on  here?"  he 
shouted,  as  he  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd. 
"What's  all  this  about?  Hello,  Rob!  Brock,  what 
about  this?" 

Brock  was  ready.  "Here's  the  man  who  has 
played  with  our  plans  all  along,  pretending  to  be 
neutral  when  he  was  nothing  but  a  dirty,  slinking  spy 
from  the  very  beginning — " 

"Liar!"  shouted  Raymond,  and  his  boot -toe  caught 
the  ruffian  in  the  mouth  and  he  staggered  back  among 
his  fellows  with  a  hoarse  cry.  For  a  moment  he  was 
dazed;  then  raging,  furious,  his  mouth  streaming  with 
blood,  he  jerked  his  revolver  from  its  holder,  intent  to 
kill;  but  a  hand  clutched  his  arm,  and  Munro,  spurring 
his  horse  into  the  mass  of  irresolute  men,  called  out: 
"Brock,  I'll  kill  you  if  you  shoot — this  is  a  friend  of 
mine  —  you  know  that!  He's  stood  out  against  us  all 

403 


Hesper 

along,  but  he's  been  on  the  square.  7  sent  him  to  the 
Springs  myself." 

Brock  wiped  the  blood  from  his  lips.  "Mebbe 
you  asked  him  to  wire  the  sheriff  last  night.  He 
admits  he  sent  a  messenger  to  warn  him." 

Munro  turned  to  Raymond.     "  Did  you  do  that?" 

"I  did!  I  wanted  to  see  a  fair  fight.  I  didn't 
intend  to  let  your  crazy  hoodlums  wreck  that  train 
and  kill  those  men  like  rats  in  a  trap.  You  are  in 
sane,  Jack." 

Cries  of  frenzied  rage  broke  forth  again,  and  the 
crowd  surged  against  the  two  horses.  Furious,  throaty 
cries  broke  forth. 

"Kill  him!"     "Hang  him!" 

Munro  blew  a  signal  to  his  men,  and  his  voice  rang 
out  clear  and  sharp.  "The  first  man  that  reaches  a 
hand  out  of  that  circle  loses  it.  If  any  lynching  is 
done,  I  preside  over  it.  Dan,  come  in  here — you,  too, 
Cook." 

The  two  cow-boys  spurred  their  horses  into  the  cir 
cle,  and  the  four  armed  and  resolute  men  faced  the 
angry  mob  and  held  it  at  bay.  Raymond,  even  in  this 
hour  of  danger,  regretted  Munro's  assistance;  it  put 
him  under  an  obligation  which  weakened  him.  With 
his  mind  filled  with  conflicting  considerations,  he 
waited  while  the  swift  clatter  of  a  hundred  hoofs  drew 
near,  and  a  squad  of  Munro's  picked  men  surrounded 
their  captain,  who  called  out  as  the  mangy  crowd  fell 
back:  "  I  want  you  to  understand  that  I'm  in  command 
of  this  hill,  and  I  won't  stand  for  any  more  funny 
business.  Open  up  there!" 

When  they  were  clear  of  danger,  Raymond  drew 
rein  towards  Munro.  "Jack,  you  saved  my  scalp  to- 

404 


A    Last    Appeal 

day,  and  I'm  grateful;  that's  why  I  don't  want  to  see 
you  in  the  hands  of  the  sheriff.  I  want  you  to  pull  out 
this  minute.  Come,  now,  this  is  a  last  appeal.  Fly 
the  coop.  If  you  don't,  they'll  hang  you.  What  do 
you  hope  to  accomplish?  Face  the  situation.  You 
are  the  one  to  hit  the  trail,  and  hit  it  like  a  wolf.  What 
do  you  hope  to  do?" 

"I  expect  to  hold  this  camp  until  the  syndicate 
yields  to  the  demands  of  the  miners,  or  until  the  Gov 
ernor  interferes." 

"Then  what?" 

"Then  I  step  down  and  out." 

"Suppose  the  sheriff  attacks  to-night?" 

"I  will  send  him  back  a-whirling.  And  now  let  me 
take  an  inning.  You  mustn't  come  up  here  again.  I 
can't  answer  for  what  would  happen  next  time.  You 
stay  where  you  are,  and — listen!  take  care  of  yourself." 
He  laughed  as  he  added,  "Looks  like  this  is  my  busy 
day,  and  I  can't  spare  a  guard." 

Raymond  mused.  "Jack,  you've  got  a  wild-cat  by 
the  tail.  You  can  neither  let  go  nor  hold  on.  You 
need  some  one  to  save  you  from  yourself  and  the  cat." 

Munro's  eyes  twinkled.  "I  reckon  you've  hit  it; 
but,  meanwhile,  there's  nothin'  to  do  but  keep  the 
cat's  backbone  straight.  Well,  now,  so  long,  and  take 
good  care  of  the  lady." 


XXVII 
Hesper 

THE  world  of  men  had  never  before  appealed  to 
Ann's  imagination.  She  had  been  quite  content  to 
let  the  predatory  male  go  down  into  his  jungles  of  trade 
and  return  at  his  leisure;  but  on  the  peak  she  was 
thrust  amid  the  most  distinctively  masculine  plans,  and 
being  measurably  relieved  from  anxiety  by  Louis'  sub 
siding  pulse,  she  permitted  herself  a  closer  study  of  the 
brusque  and  ominous  movements  taking  place  in  the 
scope  of  her  window.  She  studied  Raymond,  in  earnest 
but  apparently  unexcited  conference  with  his  work 
men.  No  word  of  their  low  utterance  reached  her  ears, 
but  she  observed  that  they  organized  into  squads  as  if 
in  obedience  to  some  command,  and  that  each  man 
armed  himself,  and  that  each  face  was  grim  or  reck 
lessly  smiling.  That  they  formed  her  guard  she  knew, 
and  this  in  itself  ought  to  have  been  thrilling;  but  it 
was  not — it  seemed  absurd. 

Far  up  on  the  hill,  Munro's  horsemen  (diminished  to 
the  size  of  swallows)  swooped  to  and  fro  on  aimless  er 
rands,  and  at  a  greater  distance  below,  to  the  west,  on 
the  Bozle  road,  scores  of  teams  and  hundreds  of  foot 
men  streamed  along,  each  sight-seer  eager  to  behold 
the  first  onslaught.  It  seemed  as  though  every  de 
tachable  thing  in  the  camp  was  in  motion — like  leaves 

406 


Hesper 

before  an  all  -  prevailing  storm -wind  —  and  that  the 
place  whereon  she  stood  alone  remained  calm — danger 
ously,  menacingly  calm. 

Dr.  Braide's  professional  cheer  irritated  her  during 
this  time  of  waiting,  and  despite  her  acknowledgment 
of  gratitude  for  his  kindness,  and  her  reliance  upon  his 
skill,  she  grew  curt  almost  to  the  point  of  incivility; 
but  she  longed  for  a  reassuring  word  from  Raymond. 
"Why  don't  he  come  and  let  me  know  what  is  prepar 
ing?"  she  impatiently  repeated,  beneath  her  breath. 
"  He  has  no  right  to  leave  me  in  the  dark."  And  once 
she  went  to  the  door  with  impulse  to  call  him,  but  her 
resolution  sank  away.  He  was  a  part  of  the  man's 
world,  and  sternly  busy. 

He  did  not  show  himself  again  to  her  until  about  nine 
o'clock  of  the  evening,  when  he  entered  the  sick-room 
and  said,  quietly,  to  Braide:  "Doctor,  you  better  go  to 
bed,  if  the  patient  will  permit.  You  may  be  badly 
needed  early  to-morrow  morning." 

"Very  well,"  acquiesced  Braide,  convinced  that  a 
closer  tie  than  friendship  united  Ann  and  the  young 
miner,  and  that  they  desired  to  be  alone.  "Our  pa 
tient  is  doing  well."  As  he  was  about  to  leave,  he 
said,  "You  expect  trouble,  do  you  not?" 

Raymond  was  evasive.  "It's  a  good  time  to  pre 
pare  for  it,  though  it  may  drift  round  us." 

The  door  had  hardly  closed  behind  the  young  phy 
sician  when  Ann  turned  to  Raymond  and  imperiously 
said :  ' '  You  must  not  try  to  evade  me.  I  want  to  know 
what  is  threatening.  Tell  me!" 

"The  camp  is  wild,"  he  admitted,  feeling  the  resent 
ment  in  her  voice;  "  and  I  don't  see  how  a  clash  can  be 
avoided  so  long  as  Munro  is  in  command  and  keeps  his 

407 


Hesper 

present  temper.  But  you  need  give  no  thought  to  that. 
All  my  men  are  on  guard  to-night,  and  whatever  hap 
pens,  this  cabin  is  safe." 

"I  like  you  to  be  honest  with  me,"  she  said,  more 
gently.  "  I'm  not  a  child,  and  I'm  not  a  timid  person. 
I  hate  lying  and  evasions." 

He  smiled  down  at  her.  "  I  know  you  do ;  that  is  the 
reason  I  am  speaking  so  frankly.  If  I  thought  you 
were  in  actual  danger  I  would  take  you  in  my  arms  and 
carry  you  to  safety,  even  against  your  own  will;  but 
there  are  twenty  determined  men  between  you  and  any 
violence  that  might  wander  our  way." 

"Thank  you.  Why  didn't  you  come  and  tell  me 
sooner?" 

"I  was  very  busy." 

"What  were  you  doing?  What  have  you  done?  I 
want  to  know  it  all." 

"You  shall  know,"  he  answered,  taking  a  seat  before 
the  fire.  He  had  never  been  more  admirable  than  at  that 
moment.  "My  theory  is  that  the  sheriff's  forces  are 
eager  to  storm  the  hill  before  the  Governor  has  a  chance 
to  interfere  and  'protect  his  pets,'  that  is  the  way  they 
put  it.  If  the  attack  is  made,  a  desperate  struggle 
will  follow.  Probably  the  deputies  will  try  to  carry 
the  fortification  direct.  Meanwhile,  Kelly  and  I  have 
drawn  up  and  forwarded  to  the  Governor  a  long  tele 
gram  signed  by  the  leading  independents,  reciting  our 
disaster,  and  demanding  immediate  interference  on  his 
part,  and  we  are  hoping  to  hear  from  him  before  mid 
night.  I  have  also  wired  Barnett  to  warn  the  sheriff 
of  your  presence  here,  and  that  we  are  guarding  you. 
I  think  Don  is  with  the  deputies.  If  he  is,  he  will  see 
that  this  cabin  remains  outside  the  field  of  operation." 

408 


Hesper 

"Where  is  Captain  Munro?" 

"His  vedettes  are  camped  on  the  north  slope,  but 
may  engage  the  enemy  at  any  moment,  for  Jack  is 
quite  as  eager  as  the  sheriff  to  win  first  blood.  If  it 
were  not  for  the  possible  injury  of  innocent  men  and 
women,  I  would  say  let  them  fight  it  out.  Each  camp 
is  quite  as  crazy  and  lawless  as  the  other.  Now  you 
have  the  truth.  I  have  concealed  nothing  from  you. 
I  will  even  tell  you  that  Munro  has  promised  to  come 
down  for  a  final  conference  with  the  independents,  and 
that  we  are  still  hoping  to  persuade  him  to  leave  the 
camp." 

Ann's  face  softened.  "  Isn't  it  an  ironical  turn,  that 
Louis  and  I,  rank  outsiders,  with  no  personal  interest 
at  stake,  should  be  tied  here  helpless  at  the  very  cen 
tre  of  a  miners'  war?" 

He  stirred  uneasily  in  his  chair.  "You  touch  my 
sore  spot.  I  can't  forget  that  you  would  never  have 
climbed  this  peak  only  for  me  —  I  mean  through 
Louis'  friendship  for  me.  In  a  sense  I  brought  you 
here,  and  the  thought  of  any  harm  to  you  or  to  him 
unnerves  me." 

The  sick  boy  stirred  uneasily  and  called  faintly,  and 
Ann  went  to  him  and  bent  above  him  tenderly.  "  Here 
I  am,  Buddie.  Are  you  better?" 

"Oh,  I'm  so  hot!     Take  that  blanket  off  me." 

Raymond  looked  at  Ann.  "Shall  I  lighten  his 
load?" 

She  shook  her  head  as  she  put  a  glass  of  water  to 
the  boy's  lips.  "What  time  is  it?"  he  asked,  as  he  fell 
back  upon  his  pillow. 

"Going  on  ten  o'clock." 

"Has  the  fight  come  off  yet?" 
409 


Hesper 

Raymond  was  cautious.     "No,  the  camp  is  quiet." 

He  insisted  on  talking.  "I  hope  they  won't  fight 
till  I  get  over  this  cold.  It's  hard  luck  to  be  here. 
What  day  is  it?  How  long  have  I  been  sick?  You 
should  have  seen  Jack  when  he  rode  up  and  stopped 
the  man!"  In  this  way  his  mind  leaped  and  danced 
for  an  hour,  but  he  grew  drowsy  at  last,  and  went 
away  into  sleep,  leaving  Raymond  and  Ann  alone  to 
gether,  each  more  acutely  conscious  of  the  other  than 
before. 

Ann  spoke  first.  "Poor  boy!  He  will  always  feel 
defrauded,  to  think  he  is  missing  all  this  drama." 

"Your  father  must  have  been  such  another  enthu 
siast.  I  have  read  his  journal  with  the  greatest  pleas 
ure.  Some  of  it  needs  only  capital  letters  to  be 
poetry." 

"Yes,  my  father  was  a  beautiful  character.  I  wish 
I  had  inherited  more  of  his  spirit." 

"I  liked  his  name  for  you,"  he  continued  in  the 
same  tone. 

She  colored.  "  That  was  the  only  thing  I  had  to  re 
proach  him  for.  I  reproach  myself  now  for  not  ac 
quiescing  in  it.  I  think  it  grieved  him  to  have  me 
side  with  mother  against  it." 

"It  is  a  sweet  name  to  me — Hesper."  He  uttered 
it  with  the  tenderness  which  dwells  in  the  voice  of  a 
lover,  and  its  letters  sang  together — but  he  dared  not 
look  at  her.  Ann  sat  silent  with  a  rapt  musing  in  her 
eyes,  lost  in  wonder  of  the  emotion  this  childish  name, 
spoken  thus,  had  awakened  in  her.  Had  this  strong 
young  miner  chanted  a  love  poem,  he  could  not  have 
conveyed  to  her  so  much  of  his  frank  and  manly  pas 
sion. 


XXVIII 
Raymond  Silences  Munro 

RAYMOND  was  hastening  to  apologize  for  his 
temerity  when  the  noise  of  a  galloping  horse  cut 
short  his  speech  and  whitened  Ann's  cheek,  so  porten 
tous  was  the  sound  of  haste  at  such  an  hour.  "  I  hope 
that  is  Jack,"  said  the  miner,  and  hastened  to  fhe  door 
to  meet  and  silence  Munro,  who  entered  with  studied  ef 
fect, and, removing  his  sombrero, bowed  very  low  to  Ann. 
"Good-evening,  haughty  princess.  How's  the  kid?" 

Ann,  relieved  to  find  the  flying  messenger  an  expect 
ed  though  unwelcome  visitor,  replied,  pleasantly,  "He's 
better,  thank  you." 

A  covert  smile  curled  the  handsome  lips  of  the  young 
leader  as  he  glanced  from  Raymond  to  Ann,  and  some 
thing  in  his  bearing  puzzled  the  girl.  When  he  spoke 
again,  with  a  growing  deliberation,  she  perceived  that 
he  was  in  liquor. 

"You  mustn't  be  alarmed — these  are  rough  times, 
but  you'll  be  protected.  Battle's  comin'  off  this  time, 
sure  thing.  We  move  on  the  enemy  at  daybreak.  Si- 
down.  Don'  stand  in  my  presence,"  he  added,  with  a 
comical  twist  of  his  lips. 

Ann  turned  with  a  startled  glance  to  Raymond,  who 
genially  said,  "I'm  glad  you  came  down,  Jack;  I  want 
you  to  hold  a  conference  with  the  independents." 

411 


Hesper 

Munro  stiffened.  "No  time  for  confrence.  No 
time  to  talk  with  any  one.  I  just  came  down  to  say 
howdy  to  the  lady.  That's  all.  Understand?"  His 
voice  rose. 

Raymond  lifted  a  warning  hand.  "Quietly,  old 
man,  don't  disturb  the  boy.  Let's  go  find  Kelly." 

Munro's  face  grew  sullen.  "Don't  want  to  see 
Kelly — don't  want  to  see  you.  I've  come  to  see  the 
lady."  He  faced  Ann  again.  "  I'm  going  into  battle. 
May  be  killed  to-morrow.  Had  to  say  good-bye.  I 
may  not  see  you  again."  He  turned  to  Raymond  and 
his  voice  was  peremptory.  "You  go  find  Kelly;  let 
me  talk  with  Ann." 

To  Raymond's  great  relief,  Kelly,  who  had  heard 
Munro  arrive,  appeared  at  the  door.  His  manner  was 
easy  and  his  voice  low  as  he  greeted  the  intruder. 
"Hello,  Jack,  how  goes  the  Napoleonic  business?" 

Munro  turned  with  darkening  brows,  and  labored 
to  be  gloomily  impressive.  "Got  'em  scared,  all 
right.  They're  meditating  retreat  this  minute.  I'm 
only  afraid  they'll  run  too  quick.  If  I  see  'em  mov 
ing  out  I'll  drop  down  on  'em." 

Kelly  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "Lad,  you  need 
sleep;  you're  worn  out." 

Raymond,  with  a  significant  look  at  Matt,  turned 
as  if  to  stir  the  fire — a  movement  which  brought  him 
behind  his  visitor. 

Munro  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  laboriously 
explained:  "  Been  tryin'  to  keep  awake  on  whiskey- 
trifle  shot  this  minute,  askin'  Lady  Ann's  pardon.  You 
see,  the  warm  room  makes  my  thongue  tick — tongue 
tick."  He  laughed  at  his  vain  effort  to  speak  these 
words.  "Got  a  knot  in  it." 

412 


Raymond    Silences    Munro 

Raymond's  right  arm  encircled  the  young  leader'? 
waist,  pinioning  the  deadly  right  hand  to  his  side, 
while  Kelly,  seizing  the  almost  equally  skilful  left, 
whipped  the  young  desperado's  revolver  from  his 
belt. 

For  a  moment  the  fangless  rattlesnake  was  bewil 
dered.  ''What  you  mean,  Rob?"  he  asked,  ominously. 

"Come  outside,  Jack.  Don't  make  a  row — for  the 
lady's  sake.  We  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"Let  go  o'  me,"  he  retorted,  writhing  in  Raymond's 
clutch.  In  the  midst  of  this  he  grinned  at  Kelly.  "  I 
know  these  arms.  What's  your  game,  Rob?" 

"Come  outside  and  I'll  tell  you,"  pleaded  Ray 
mond. 

'If  'tweren't  for  your  company  I'd  cut  your  heart 
out,"  he  replied,  with  calm  malignancy. 

Kelly,  less  patient  than  Raymond,  broke  forth: 
"Gwan  out!  Don't  make  a  row  here.  Can't  ye  see 
you're  disturbin'  the  sick  boy?" 

The  sodden  brain  of  the  reckless  leader  was  waking 
up  again,  and,  with  a  bow  to  Ann,  he  said:  "Sorry 
to  'sturb  you,  but  I  must  take  these  men  outside  and 
kill  'em.  See  you  again  soon." 

Raymond  released  his  prisoner  and  stepped  through 
the  door  in  advance  of  him,  but  as  Munro  followed 
and  stood  for  an  instant  on  the  step,  peering  into  the 
darkness,  Raymond  seized  him  again,  and  with  a  furi 
ous  twist  threw  him  to  the  earth  and  fell  upon  him  in 
a  terrible  struggle.  Matt,  mindful  of  Ann  and  the 
boy,  closed  the  door.  The  girl,  not  daring  to  look  out, 
could  only  stand  with  nerveless  limbs  and  pounding 
heart  and  listen.  Once  the  desperate  man  uttered  a 
gasping  snarl,  but  it  was  cut  short  by  a  merciless 


Hesper 

hand,  and  all  was   still.     Then  her   composure  gave 
way. 

"Oh,  Rob,  don't  kill  him!"  she  called,  heedless  of 
Louis.  Opening  the  door  she  cried  again,  "Don't, 
please  don't!" 

Kelly  was  binding  the  captain's  feet  while  Raymond, 
with  a  knee  on  his  chest  and  one  hand  at  his  throat, 
looked  up  at  Ann  as  she  stood  in  the  doorway,  and 
said:  "Please  go  in.  We  are  doing  this  for  his  own 
good.  We  won't  hurt  him.  He'll  thank  us  for  it 
when  he  understands  our  motive." 

Munro,  like  a  trapped  wild -cat,  snapped  at  his 
captor;  but  Raymond's  long  fingers  prevented  him. 
"Now  listen,  Jack.  You  did  me  a  good  turn  to-day, 
and  I'm  going  to  do  as  much  for  you.  I'm  going  to 
save  you  from  State's  prison  against  your  own  fool's 
will.  You're  going  to  leave  camp  to  -  night,  dead 
sure  thing!  And  you  might  as  well  go  quietly.  If 
you  don't,  we'll  pack  you  on  your  horse  like  a  roll 
of  blankets.  Will  you  be  quiet?  Will  you  ride  your 
horse,  or  must  we  tie  you  on?" 

Ann,  appalled  by  this  display  of  desperate  fury 
battling  with  iron  resolution,  forgot  to  obey.  Enter 
ing  imaginatively  into  the  captive's  deep  humiliation, 
she  understood  that  he  could  not  submit  to  such  wills 
as  those  above  him,  even  to  save  his  life. 

Braide  appeared  behind  Ann.  "What  is  the 
fracas?" 

Raymond  spoke  again,  and  his  voice  was  imperative. 
"Please  go  in;  this  is  no  place  for  you.  Doctor,  shut 
the  door!" 

They  shrank  before  the  authority  of  his  voice,  and 
withdrew  into  the  house,  and  Braide  closed  the  door. 

414 


Raymond    Silences    Munro 

Louis  was  awake,  his  bright  eyes  widely  opened,  his 
ears  alert.  Forgetful  of  him  for  the  moment,  Ann 
listened  breathlessly  while  Raymond  pleaded  with  his 
captive.  "Now,  be  reasonable,  Jack.  Go  quietly 
with  Kelly." 

Again  the  frenzied  man  renewed  his  struggle. 
Blindly,  ferociously,  like  an  animal,  deaf  to  all  reason, 
acknowledging  no  law  but  that  of  force,  he  writhed, 
beating  the  ground.  His  gasping  breath  was  painful 
to  hear.  At  last  Braide,  who  had  been  picking  handily 
at  his  medicine-case,  suddenly  opened  the  door  and 
ran  out. 

"Here  is  where  the  man  of  medicine  comes  in," 
he  called,  jovially,  and  thrust  a  folded  handkerchief 
beneath  Munro's  nostrils.  "Let  him  breathe,  Ray 
mond,"  he  said,  quietly.  "It  '11  do  him  good." 

Munro's  knotted  muscles  almost  instantly  relaxed, 
his  hands  fell  inert,  his  head  turned  quietly  to  one 
side,  and  his  face  became  as  peaceful  as  a  sleeping 
child. 

"What  have  you  done?"  whispered  Kelly,  excitedly. 

Braide  laughed.  "Hypnotized  him.  You  can  do 
as  you  wish  with  him  now,  but  work  quick." 

"Much  obliged,  doctor,"  said  Raymond.  "Take 
him  up,  Matt.  Let's  put  him  away  while  he  sleeps. 
He'll  go  by  freight  now."  As  they  laid  hold  of  the 
corpselike  figure  he  added  to  Ann  and  to  Braide,  "Not 
a  word  of  this  to  any  one!" 

The  two  men  had  hardly  shuffled  off  into  the  dark 
ness  before  a  couple  of  men  on  guard  came  by.  "Oh, 
it's  you,  doctor.  I  thought  I  heard  Kelly's  voice," 
said  one  of  them. 

"All  quiet  here,"  answered  Braide. 


Hesper 

Ann  returned  to  Louis'  bedside  with  a  sense  of  hav 
ing  witnessed  and  condoned  a  midnight  murder,  and 
a  knock  at  the  door  startled  her  as  though  it  were 
a  summons  to  trial.  But  the  visitor  was  only  one 
of  Munro's  men,  deferential,  almost  timid,  in  her 
presence. 

"Excuse  me,  but  has  the  captain  been  here  this 
evening?"  he  asked,  politely. 

The  doctor  quickly  answered,  "Yes,  but  he  went 
away  again  almost  immediately." 

"If  you  see  him,  just  tell  him  we  need  him  on  the 
hill." 

"I'll  do  so  gladly." 

"Much  obliged,"  The  messenger  withdrew,  and 
they  soon  heard  him  gallop  swiftly  away,  and  all  be 
came  silent. 

At  Ann's  insistent  request  Braide  went  back  to  his 
couch,  and  she  was  again  alone  waiting  for  Raymond's 
return. 

The  situation  in  the  great  drama  was  now  quite 
clear  to  her  mental  vision.  She  could  see  the  small 
army  waiting  below,  foolishly  eager  for  the  coming 
of  the  dawn,  and  it  was  not  difficult  to  imagine  the 
excitement  and  consternation  in  Munro's  forces  when 
their  leader  failed  to  appear.  She  understood  also 
something  of  the  panic  in  Bozle  and  in  the  valley, 
and  realized  that  through  the  night  the  news  of  the 
impending  assault  on  the  peak  was  flying,  loosed  along 
aerial  ways  by  the  tapping  ringers  of  a  hundred  deft, 
dispassionate  operators.  And  though  she  knew  the 
darkness  outside  was  sentinelled  by  Raymond's  faith 
ful  men,  she  could  not  rid  herself  of  a  feeling  of  im 
pending  danger.  The  air  was  surcharged  with  some 

416 


Raymond    Silences    Munro 

invisible  evil  potency,  and  seemed  about  to  crackle 
into  a  destructive  tempest  of  pistol-shots. 

From  the  outside  point  of  view  the  entire  cam 
paign  was  farcical,  a  subject  for  ironical  laughter; 
but  from  the  position  of  a  woman  inside  the  lines  and. 
watching  beside  a  sick-bed,  it  yielded  no  amusement ; 
it  was  distinctly  appalling. 


XXIX 
Ann's    New    Philosophy 

RAYMOND  was  gone  for  nearly  two  hours,  but 
when  he  did  appear  he  was  entirely  self-con 
tained  and  very  gentle. 

"You  must  go  to  sleep,"  he  said,  at  once.  "I  will 
watch.  I  want  to  beg  your  pardon  for  seizing  Munro 
in  your  presence,  but  it  was  necessary,  both  for  his 
sake  and  to  prevent  bloodshed.  I  saw  no  other  chance 
of  disarming  him.  I  hope  you  will  excuse  my  harsh 
ness  in  sending  you  away." 

"You  need  not  apologize;  I  understood,"  she  an 
swered.  "What  have  you  done  with  him?" 

"Kelly  has  taken  him  away  out  of  danger.  Have 
any  of  his  men  called  for  him?" 

"Yes,  one;  but  he  rode  away  again.  Have  you  any 
further  news?" 

"Something  is  going  on  in  Bozle.  I  could  hear 
cheering,  and  I  thought  I  could  distinguish  the  gal 
loping  of  horses.  Whatever  is  coming,  my  duty  is 
here;  and  now  let  me  take  you  to  Nora." 

"No,  no!  I  can't  sleep  now.  My  brain  is  whirl 
ing  with  this  night's  events.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  about 
to  witness  some  great  storm,  some  catastrophe. 
Sleep  is  impossible  to-night." 

He  turned  with  low-voiced  intensity.     "What  can 

AlS 


Ann's    New    Philosophy 

I  do  to  repair  the  injury  I  have  done  you  and  yours? 
When  I  left  Barnett's  home,  I  was  resolved  never 
to  re-enter  your  life  again.  I  honestly  tried  to  get 
away  from  Louis  and  to  take  myself  absolutely  out 
of  your  world.  When  I  think  of  you,  sitting  here 
surrounded  by  these  mobs,  these  violences,  witnessing 
such  deeds  as  this  to-night,  I  am  in  complete  despair. 
I  see  no  way  out.  Each  hour  adds  to  my  sense  of 
responsibility  for  you — " 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  gesture  of  protest. 
"You  must  not  blame  yourself — it  had  to  be.  Do 
you  believe  in  fate?" 

"I  do  not,  nor  in  luck,"  he  answered,  slowly. 

' '  Neither  do  I ,  but  I  believe  in  compensations.  Since 
I  came  up  here  I  have  worked  out  a  theory  of  life. 
I've  been  happy  here;  that  should  comfort  you." 

"It  would,  only  I  cannot  rid  myself  of  the  thought 
of  what  you  have  sacrificed  to  be  here.  Each  day 
has  plunged  you  deeper  into  this  lawless  barbarism." 

"There  is  where  my  theory  helps  me.  One's  life 
has  a  general  average  like  a  weather  report.  Don't 
laugh.  I  will  explain  what  I  mean.  If  one  has  too 
abundant  rains  in  June,  one  is  likely  to  be  dry  and 
parched  in  August ;  that  is  the  law.  As  nothing  ever 
happened  to  me  up  to  the  time  when  I  decided  to 
leave  New  York,  so  now  events  crowd  each  other's 
heels.  Don't  you  see  what  I  mean?  My  life  had 
no  real  value  to  me,  nor  to  any  one  else  till  I  came 
West.  I  bore  no  burdens.  I  demanded  constant 
pleasure.  When  I  was  tired  of  one  place  I  went  to 
another,  and  yet  I  never  got  sufficiently  weary  of  the 
first  to  make  the  second  a  joy.  So  the  time  had  to 
come  when  I  should  sit  as  I  do  now,  watching  by  a 

419 


Hesper 

sick-bed,  unable  to  sleep.  It's  one  of  my  compensa 
tions.  As  I  lost  interest  in  life  by  idleness  and  pleas 
ure-seeking,  so  now,  perhaps,  I  am  destined  to  regain 
it  by  toil.  Pleasures  come  to  me  now  when  I  least 
expect  them.  That  is  a  wonderful  thing  to  me.  I 
thought  I  had  lost  all  power  to  vividly  enjoy,  but  I 
haven't.  So  you  see,  I  am  not  accusing  you  or  any 
one.  I  have  only  reason  to  be  thankful,  if  only  no 
harm  comes  to  Louis  or  my  friends  here.  I  shall  not 
complain." 

"It  is  very  sweet  of  you  to  try  to  lighten  my  sense 
of  guilt,"  he  replied,  gently.  "But  I  cannot  absolve 
myself  so  easily.  I  can  understand  your  theory,  but 
I  cannot  understand  how  you  find  life  ?  disappoint 
ment,  you  who  have  everything  to  make  you  happy." 

She  leaned  towards  him  with  eager  face.  "That  is 
just  the  point  of  my  discovery.  I  have  had  too  much. 
Joy  comes  by  contrast.  You  are  hungry,  and  food  is 
good;  you  are  tired,  and  rest  is  sweet.  You  can't  over 
take  the  sweet  joys  on  the  road  of  life ;  they  must  meet 
you — unexpectedly.  All  my  life  I've  eaten  when  I  was 
not  hungry  and  slept  when  I  was  not  weary.  I  had  no 
duties;  my  wants  were  met  instantly.  That's  why  I 
lost  interest  in  life.  It  wasn't  normal — it  was  as  if 
all  the  year  were  June.  There  were  no  compensating 
pains,  and  so,  to  restore  me  to  health,  God  took  away 
my  sunshine." 

He  smiled  a  little.  "I  don't  know  whether  I  like 
being  a  part  of  such  discipline." 

She  went  on:  "  I  am,  by  heritage,  a  worker.  I  know 
that  now.  My  father's  people  were  active  and  calcu 
lating  folk,  and  my  life  in  the  city  was  unnatural. 
I've  been  deliciously  hungry  and  weary  since  I've  been 

420 


Ann's    New    Philosophy 

here —  iife  seems  restored  to  its  balance.  I've  been 
happier  than  at  any  time  since  my  careless  childhood. 
So  do  not  blame  yourself.  -I  used  to  think  I  would 
go  mad  with  the  sense  of  my  failure  to  grasp  anything, 
to  taste  anything.  Everything  seemed  slipping  away 
from  me.  You  have  done  me  good — you  and  splendid 
old  Matt  and  sweet  Nora." 

They  had  forgotten  the  warfare  outside.  They  were 
face  to  face  with  the  passion  that  forever  rejuvenates 
the  earth. 

He  sprang  from  his  chair  and  faced  her.  "You 
mustn't  talk  to  me  so,"  he  exclaimed,  almost  harshly. 
' '  I  shall  forget  my  promises  and  say  forbidden  words 
to  you.  You  unseat  all  my  good  resolutions." 

She  heard  but  ignored  his  passionate  words.  A  sort 
of  mental  and  spiritual  recklessness  had  seized  her. 
"All  my  life  in  the  East  and  in  the  old  world,  every 
thing  in  the  past,  seems  gray  —  as  if  covered  by  a 
mist.  The  realities  seem  to  be  here.  I  feel  grateful 
to  you,  and  I  want  to  ask  a  favor  of  you." 

"Anything  you  ask,  except  a  renewal  of  my  promise 
of  silence." 

She  hesitated  before  the  rising  storm  of  his  love.  "  I 
want  you  to  let  me  —  Louis  and  me  —  help  rebuild 
your  mine." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"It's  so  simple.  You  and  Matt  need  money.  I 
want  you  to  take  Louis  into  your  mine  as  a  partner. 
Hush!"  she  warningly  whispered,  as  the  sleeper's  head 
moved  on  his  pillow.  "  If  he  lives,  he  will  want  to  work 
with  you;  if  he  dies,  I  must  help  you  for  his  sake." 

"  He  will  not  die ;  he  will  live.  But  you — Ann,  there 
is  something  back  of  this."  He  laid  his  strong  hands 

421 


Hesper 

upon  her  shoulders,  looking  into  her  face  with  such 
piercing  passion  that  she  shrank  and  grew  timid.  "  You 
need  me?  Is  that  it?  Am  I  one  of  your  compensa 
tions?" 

She  tried  to  smile.  "That  would  not  be  flattering — 
according  to  my  theory." 

He  refused  to  be  diverted.  "  I  don't  care  what  your 
Eastern  world  thinks  of  me,  if  only  you  are  content 
with  me.  I  accept  your  theory.  I  deserve  compen 
sation — some  sweet  return  for  my  lonely,  loveless  life 
on  the  plain.  Will  you  come  ?  Is  that  what  you  mean  ?" 

She  was  on  the  brink  of  the  river  now,  and  her 
heart  failed  her  at  thought  of  the  strange  lands  to 
which  it  ran.  "I  don't  know  what  I  mean.  Please 
let  me  go — you  hurt  me." 

He  was  master  now,  stopping  at  no  polite  bar.  "I 
will  not  let  you  go  till  you  speak  your  mind."  His 
physical  hold  on  her  arms  softened,  but  his  spiritual 
self  closed  round  her.  ''Six  months  ago  I  was  a 
rancher  in  the  foot-hills,  and  you  were  in  a  great  East 
ern  city.  We  were  as  wide  apart  as  the  poles.  Now 
here  we  are!  I  don't  understand  it.  This  I  know: 
you  are  here  and  I  can't  let  you  go.  I  accept  your 
offer  to  go  into  the  mine,  but  not  for  Louis'  sake.  I 
do  it  for  my  own  sake,  because  I  want  you  to  be  my 
partner — my  wife.  What  do  you  say,  Hesper,  my  star 
of  the  West?" 

She  put  him  away  almost  in  terror.  "  I  can't  decide 
now.  I  must  be  sure  —  sure,  and  I'm  not  sure.  I 
must  have  time  to  consider.  I  must  go  back  into  my 
old  life — to  my  native  city." 

"Back  into  the  gray  shadow?"  he  asked. 

"That  is  what  I'm  not  certain  about.  I've  been 
422 


Ann's    New    Philosophy 

wondering  how  all  this  would  seem  if  I  were  to  wake 
to-morrow  in  my  rooms  at  the  Westchester."  She 
sighed,  "  Oh,  it  is  all  so  complicated!" 

"To  my  mind  it  is  very  simple.  You  say  you  are 
happier  here  than  in  the  East.  Why  go  back  at  all? 
Why  risk  the  loss  of  this  new-found  health?" 

"  I  will  be  honest.  It  is  because  by  contrast  the  old 
life  begins  to  glow.  The  change  in  me  may  be  due  to 
physical  causes.  Perhaps  I  could  carry  my  recovered 
joy  of  life  back  with  me.  If  this  should  be  so,  then  I 
might  never  want  to  return,  and  that  would  be  cruel 
to  you.  Don't  you  see?" 

"Then  you  should  go,"  he  answered,  quickly.  "I 
want  to  make  you  happy.  If  I  cannot,  then  it  is  better 
for  one  to  suffer  than  two.  Return  to  New  York,  and 
from  that  vantage-ground  look  back  on  this  new  life. 
If  /  do  not  then  seem  fitted  to  make  you  happy  I  will 
not  complain.  If  any  man  stopped  to  count  the  rea 
sons  why  he  should  not  make  a  woman  his  wife  he 
would  live  single  all  his  days.  You  have  raised  my 
own  doubts,  and  I  insist  no  more.  Besides,  I  have  my 
own  share  of  pride." 

"Please — don't  misunderstand  me — " 

"I  do  not.  I  understand,  and  I'm  horribly  afraid 
you  are  right — I  have  so  little  to  offer  you." 

' '  A  woman  does  not  love  a  man  for  what  he  can  offer 
in  way  of  a  home  or  reputation.  No,  it  is  not  that;  it 
is  a  fear  that  my  mind  may  change — " 

They  were  interrupted  again,  this  time  by  Nora,  who 
came  in  pale  and  troubled.  "Rob,  where  is  Matt? 
Sure  he  has  not  shown  his  face  since  supper." 

"  He's  in  command  of  the  guard  to-night.  He's  not 
far  away.  Don't  worry  about  him." 

423 


Hesper 

"Ann,  dear,  I  wish  you'd  come  home.  I  need  you, 
Rob  will  sit  with  the  sick  one — won't  you,  Rob?" 

To  this  suggestion  Raymond  gave  assent,  and  in  the 
end  Ann  went  away,  her  demonstration  unfinished— 
the  question  of  her  future  still  unanswered. 

Nora  was  fairly  broken.  "Dear  God!  how  long  are 
we  to  be  kept  on  the  edge  of  destruction  like  this? 
Sure  my  patience  is  worn  out.  In  all  my  life  in  the 
mines  I've  seen  nothing  like  this." 

^Ann  comforted  her  as  best  she  could,  and  at  one 
o'clock,  all  being  quiet  outside,  they  went  to  bed, 
worn  out  with  watching. 

^  But  Ann  could  not  sleep— Raymond  filled  her  inner 
vision.  She  loved  him,  that  she  now  admitted,  and 
yet  she  could  not  see  herself  adjusted  to  his  world. 
It  seemed  like  a  complete  abandonment  of  her  old 
life,  and  gray  though  it  had  been  she  was  afraid  to 
put  this  new,  strange,  and  tumultuous  existence  to 
the  hazard.  The  charm  of  his  voice,  his  clear  eyes, 
the  lines  of  his  head,  of  his  shoulders,  she  acknowledged! 
"  His  growth  in  tenderness,  in  comprehension  of  my 
life,  promises  happiness.  And  yet  I  must  go  back  to 
my  mother.  I  can't  decide  here.  The  temptation  is 
too  great." 

She  was  awakened  from  an  uneasy  sleep  by  Nora's 
cry  to  Matt:  "For  love  of  Heaven,  where  have  you 
been?  What  is  that  noise?" 

Matt's  voice,  rumbling  in  reply,  barely  reached  her 
ears,  for  a  deep,  trampling,  continuous  tumult  grew 
each  moment  louder,  and  at  last  was  distinguishable 
as  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs.  Springing  from  her  bed, 
she  drew  aside  the  curtain  and  peered  out.  In  the 

424 


Ann's    New    Philosophy 

clear,  yellow  light  of  the  frosty  dawn  a  regiment  of 
mounted  men  was  streaming  up  the  road  between  the 
cabins,  moving  without  word  or  bugle-note,  as  stealth 
ily  as  a  body  of  troops  can  move,  gliding  on  a  com 
pound  curve  like  a  vast  articulated  insect,  their  move 
ment  giving  rise  to  a  steady,  ominous,  dull,  trampling 
roar. 

The  picture  took  hold  of  her  in  a  dim,  deep-rooted 
way,  and  some  elemental  emotion,  dating  from  the 
days  of  perpetual  warfare,  rose  within  her  bosom  and 
quickened  her  breath.  All  fear  fell  away,  all  surprise, 
and  she  was  struggling  with  an  impulse  to  open  the 
window  and  cheer  the  warriors  when  Nora  pounded  on 
her  door. 

1  'Ann,  dear,  dress  yourself  —  quick!  The  soldiers 
are  here!" 

For  just  a  moment  longer  she  lingered.  It  was  as 
if  she  were  looking  for  the  ten-thousandth  time  upon 
a  military  picture  by  a  master -artist.  The  earth 
was  silver  white,  the  sky  vivid  saffron,  and  now 
against  the  line  of  the  rounded  hill-top  the  capped 
heads  of  the  men,  the  pointed  ears  of  the  horses  were 
etched  in  purple  silhouettes,  and  then  they  disap 
peared  as  mysteriously  as  they  came;  their  going 
seemed  each  moment  more  furtive,  more  dangerous, 
and  she  strained  her  ears  waiting  to  hear  the  sound 
of  guns,  but  all  remained  silent. 

Dressing  hurriedly,  she  went  out  into  the  sitting- 
room  just  as  Raymond  came  in,  his  face  excited  and 
exultant. 

"Our  reign  of  terror  is  over.  The  desperadoes 
are  scattering  like  quail.  The  Governor,  in  a  spirit  of 
reprisal,  has  invoked  federal  aid,  and  Colonel  Wood  of 

425 


Hesper 

the  Fortieth  United  States  Cavalry  is  about  to  take 
command  of  the  camp." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad!  Now  there  will  be  no  more 
fighting  and  you  can  restore  your  mill." 

"You  are  right.  Mobs  do  not  fight  the  United 
States  army,"  he  answered,  with  the  pride  of  a  poten 
tial  soldier. 

They  faced  each  other,  even  at  this  moment,  with 
a  knowledge  that  the  most  important  matter  of  all  re 
mained  unsettled  between  them;  and  all  day,  and  the 
next,  while  the  forces  of  disorder  dissolved  and  the  camp 
readjusted  itself  to  military  rule,  Ann  nursed  her  sick 
and  brooded  over  her  problem.  At  times  she  grew 
weary  of  the  struggle  and  was  ready  to  yield  to  his  love ; 
but  the  thought  of  the  future,  of  the  wrong  she  might 
inflict  on  an  honorable  man,  came  to  torture  her  anew. 

"Oh,  if  some  one  else  could  only  decide  for  me!" 
she  cried,  knowing  well  the  futility  of  the  wish. 

The  second  day  passed  slowly  —  even  though  she 
slept  at  times — and  no  further  word  of  intimate  mean 
ing  passed  between  them.  Raymond  came  in  from  time 
to  time  with  news  of  the  changes  in  progress  but  did 
not  tell  her  that  the  State  was  full  of  praise  of  the 
part  he  had  played  in  bringing  peace  to  the  camp.  He 
shrank  from  doing  this,  for  the  reason  that,  as  usual, 
the  press  was  extreme,  loading  him  with  compliments 
for  his  firm  stand,  for  his  influence  over  Munro,  and  for 
his  powerful  protest  to  the  Governor;  whereas,  to  his 
mind,  Matthew  Kelly  was  the  leader  of  the  free  miners. 
"I  was  only  the  secretary — the  clerk,"  he  explained. 

Dolan,  however,  brought  to  Ann  a  knowledge  of 
the  great  light  which  had  been  turned  suddenly  on 
her  lover's  abashed  figure,  and  the  glow  of  pride  which 

426 


Ann's    New    Philosophy 

came  to  her  brought  a  keen  realization  of  how  closely 
his  success  was  interwoven  with  her  good  wishes.  Nora, 
without  a  particle  of  jealousy  for  Matt's  share  of  the 
honor,  confirmed  all  that  the  reporter  had  said,  and 
Louis,  who  listened  to  it  all,  quietly  remarked,  "Rob 
is  the  boss;  I  told  you  that  all  along." 

Hounded  and  brought  to  bay  by  his  admirers,  Ray 
mond  made  a  speech  bluntly  protesting  that  he  was 
not  entitled  to  any  credit  in  the  matter.  "I  tried 
hard  to  keep  out  of  it,"  he  declared.  "I'm  not  seeking 
honor  of  that  kind."  But  his  argument  was  in  vain. 
His  denials  were  called  the  excess  of  modesty;  and 
at  a  meeting  of  the  various  factions  looking  to  an 
adjustment  he  was  amazed  to  find  himself  put  for 
ward  as  chief  arbitrator  of  the  contention,  mainly  by 
Barnett  and  the  mayor  of  Valley  Springs,  and  the 
news  of  this  was  brought  to  Ann  by  Barnett  him 
self,  who  came  into  the  bungalow  during  the  after 
noon  as  debonair  in  dress  and  manner  as  he  were  at 
Casino  Park.  "Somebody  must  be  the  hero  of  this 
victory,"  said  he,  with  dubious  meaning.  "  Kelly  won't 
have  it,  I  don't  deserve  it,  and  we  can't  afford  to  let 
it  go  to  Carter.  I  don't  see  any  way  but  this — Rob 
must  wear  the  laurel  wreath.  He  ought  to  get  the 
girl,"  he  added,  with  sly  side  glance.  "But  I  infer 
that  she's  under  lease  and  bond  to  Peabody." 

Ann  did  not  rise  to  this  jest.  "You  are  mal  a 
propos.  We  have  not  found  our  situation  humorous." 

"Oho!"  responded  Don,  "then  he  does  get  the  girl." 

As  the  news  of  what  had  taken  place  slowly  fil 
tered  into  Louis'  consciousness,  he  wept  with  vexa 
tion.  "Have  I  missed  it  all?"  he  wailed.  "Now, 
I  call  that  mean." 


XXX 

Munro's    Last    Word 

KUIS  had  not  missed  it  all,  for  just  at  sunset,  as 
Ann,  lingering  at  his  side,  was  about  to  cross  to 
the  Kelly  cabin,  Munro,  wild,  white,  and  breathless, 
burst  into  the  room. 

"Where's  my  gun?"  he  demanded.  "Where's  Rob?" 
He  was  a  hunted  man  in  every  look,  in  every  gesture. 
"My  gun!"  he  demanded,  sharply,  and  ran  into  the 
inner  room.  When  he  reappeared  his  face  was  set  in  a 
grim  smile,  for  in  his  hand  dangled  a  shining  weapon; 
his  panic  was  at  an  end.  Whoso  faced  him  now  must 
give  account  of  himself. 

"Good-bye,  girl!"  he  called,  and  his  voice  was  wild 
ly  tender.  "Don't  forget  me!"  With  a  bound  he 
reached  Barnett's  horse  and  rose  to  the  saddle  just 
as  a  stern  voice  called,  "Halt!"  and  a  blade  of  fire 
reached  out  of  the  dusk  and  pierced  his  side. 

Spurring  his  horse  in  a  swift,  rearing  circle,  he  flung 
from  his  right  hand  an  answering  puff  of  smoke,  and  a 
tall  man  with  a  rifle  in  his  hands  dropped  at  the  corner 
of  the  cabin;  but  from  his  knees  again  took  aim,  and 
the  beautiful  horse  went  down,  flinging  his  desperate 
rider  over  his  head. 

Horrified,  frozen  into  immobility,  Ann  stood  in  the 
doorway,  while  Munro  shook  himself  free  from  the  sad- 

428 


Munro's    Last    Word 

die  and  dragged  himself  clear  of  the  groaning  horse. 
Resting  himself  on  his  elbow,  with  the  face  of  a  calm 
panther  he  confronted  a  second  armed  officer.  His 
right  arm  was  useless,  but  his  mind  was  clear,  his  eyes 
steady;  and,  as  his  new  assailant  approached,  he  shifted 
his  weapon  to  his  left  hand  and  rolled  upon  his  useless 
right  arm,  and  the  bullet  intended  for  his  heart  went 
wide  then.  Lifting  himself  with  terrible  effort,  he  fired 
again,  and  put  a  bullet  into  the  very  heart  of  his  pur 
suer,  who  fell  in  a  heap  just  as  Raymond  and  Barnett, 
followed  by  Kelly,  came  rushing  to  the  scene  of  com 
bat.  Raymond  bent  above  the  fallen  leader.  "How 
is  it,  Jack;  are  you  hurt?" 

"Hurt!  I'm  shot  to  pieces.  Raise  me  up.  I  want 
one  more  crack  at  that — "  His  persistent  malignancy 
was  appalling,  like  that  of  a  splendid  mangled  ser 
pent. 

"No,  no,  Jack!     He's  whipped.     He's  gone." 

"Is  he  dead?  There's  another — let  me  get  him." 
He  struggled  again  to  rise. 

Raymond  pushed  him  gently  to  the  earth.  "Never 
mind  him  now;  you  need  help.  Where's  the  doctor? 
Why  didn't  you  jump  the  camp  as  Kelly  told  you  to 
do,  Jack,  old  man?  Why  didn't  you?" 

"How  could  I — no  horse — no  gun.  I'm  no  jack- 
rabbit  to  go  slinking  into  the  sage-brush."  He  raised 
his  voice  querulously.  "Some  o'  you  boys  get  me 
a  drink — I  feel  weak." 

A  half-dozen  started,  but  Braide  put  a  glass  to  his 
lips.  Munro  looked  at  him  with  a  steely  gleam  in  his 
eyes.  "  I  ought  to  kill  you,"  he  said,  slowly,  "for  doing 
me  last  night."  His  voice  rose  to  a  stern  command: 
"  Take  hold  and  stop  this  blood.  I  can't  stand  this 

429 


Hesper 

very  long.      Don't  you  see  that?"   he   ended,  with  a 
note  of  fierce  impatience  in  his  voice. 

At  Braide's  orders  they  took  him  up  and  carried  him 
into  the  bungalow,  where  Louis  lay  watching,  listening, 
with  Ann  close  beside  him  trying  to  shield  him  from 
the  sight  and  sound  of  this  tragic  end  of  a  gambler. 

The  dying  man  suffered  the  doctor's  examination  in 
silence  for  a  while,  then  quietly  asked:  "Well,  doc, 
what's  your  verdict?  Do  I  hit  the  long  trail?" 

"It  looks  that  way,  Jack,"  Braide  replied,  with  a 
good  deal  of  feeling. 

Munro  closed  his  eyes  and  his  face  quivered.  At  last, 
when  he  had  regained  control  of  his  voice,  he  said :  "  One 
o'  you  boys  find  Father  Halloran.  I  need  him  to  outfit 
me  for  this  big  trip.  Be  quick  about  it.  I  was  raised 
a  Catholic,"  he  explained  to  Braide  and  Raymond, 
"  and  I  need  a  priest — "  He  tried  to  raise  his  head. 
"Ann,"  he  called,  imperatively,  "I  want  you — here — 
till  the  priest  comes — " 

She  obeyed  his  call,  sustained  by  her  great  pity, 
and,  kneeling  at  his  side,  asked,  quietly,  "What  can  I 
do?" 

He  looked  at  her  with  wide  eyes,  whose  expression 
filled  her  throat  with  aching  sorrow.  "I'm  leaving 
camp  on  a  long  trip,"  he  said,  quietly,"  and  I  want  you 
to  say  a  good  word  for  me ;  maybe  it  '11  make  it  easier 
for  me  where  I'm  going." 

At  these  tender  words  Ann's  fear  and  hesitation 
passed  into  a  sort  of  awe.  He  was  so  piteously  young, 
so  boyish,  to  take  that  lonely  journey  into  the  night. 
She  took  his  hand  in  both  of  hers  and  whispered  a  little 
prayer,  to  which  the  dying  man  listened  intently.  At 
the  end  she  added,  softly:  "  I  have  faith  that  the  great 

43° 


Munro's    Last    Word 

Judge  will  deal  with  you  mercifully.  He  knows  all 
your  motives  as  well  as  your  temptations.  Surely  His 
forgiveness  is  greater  than  man's." 

"  I  take  my  chances,"  was  his  indomitable  reply.  "  I 
want  to  live,  but  I'm  not  afraid  to  die.  Rob,  I  want 
you  to  stand  by  at  the  funeral.  You  can  tell  about  me 
better  than  any  preacher.  You  know  the  worst  of  me. 
I  got  you  into  trouble  at  the  academy,  but  I  didn't  in 
tend  to — you  know  that." 

"I  never  marked  that  up  against  you,  Hollie,"  re 
plied  Raymond,  using  the  name  he  bore  among  the 
cadets. 

"I  know  you  didn't.  Doctor,  give  me  something. 
I  don't  want  to  go  just  yet.  ...  I  want  a  few  words.  .  .  . 
Give  me  breath,  can't  you?"  he  demanded,  sharply. 

Braide  shook  his  head,  and  the  dying  man  closed  his 
eyes,  and  his  hands  shut  convulsively.  When  he  opened 
them  he  could  only  whisper,  "  Girl — your  hand."  Ann 
gave  her  hand.  He  pressed  it  hard.  "You're  the  best 
— I  ever  met.  Stay  with  me.  It's  a  dark  trail — and  no 
blazes  in  the  green  timber.  Good-bye — " 

With  throat  choking  with  emotion,  Ann  bent  and 
touched  her  lips  to  his  cold  forehead. 

"You're  good  to  me.  So  long,  Rob,"  he  breathed, 
and  Ann  turned  away,  shaken  with  sobs,  unable  to 
witness  the  struggle  as  the  unquenchable  spirit  loosed 
itself  violently  from  the  mangled  body. 

The  funeral  of  the  young  leader  was  the  most  im 
pressive  ceremony  ever  seen  in  the  camp.  It  seemed 
that  every  man  and  nearly  every  woman  in  the  dis 
trict  had  assembled  in  the  street  before  the  Golden 
Horn,  and  Raymond's  succinct  oration,  delivered  in  a 


Hesper 

conversational  tone — he  scorned  to  make  oratorical 
capital  of  the  moment — was  inaudible  to  those  in  the 
outer  circles.  "Jack  was  wrong-headed,  but  his  heart 
was  right."  That  was  the  substance  of  his  plea.  "He 
never  cheated  or  lied  or  deserted  a  friend,  but  he  lived 
defiantly  and  died  violently.  Of  his  life  between  the 
date  of  his  leaving  the  academy  and  our  meeting  here 
I  know  no  more  than  you.  It  was  reckless  and  roving, 
no  doubt,  of  a  piece  with  what  we  know  of  him  here. 
He  would  have  made  a  notable  character  in  the  Middle 
Ages,  when  a  man  could  range  freely  up  and  down  the 
country  and  accuse  or  defend  at  his  pleasure ;  but  these 
are  not  the  Middle  Ages.  Such  lives  as  his  lead  to  just 
such  abrupt  ends,  for  disorder  is  not  the  rule.  Society 
to-day  hates  disorder. 

"Jack  was  not  a  hypocrite.  He  knew  his  failings. 
And  when  he  asked  me  to  stand  here  and  tell  a  good 
word  for  him,  he  knew  I  would  not  lie  about  him.  He 
was  my  friend.  He  proved  it  the  other  day  not  far 
from  here,  and  it  was  to  save  him  from  just  this  stern 
business  that  Matt  and  I  took  him  and  tied  him.  He 
refused  to  flee  like  a  coyote — he  preferred  to  die  fight 
ing.  I  am  not  here  to  preach — to  draw  lessons  from 
his  life — I  am  only  here  to  say  he  was  my  friend,  warm 
hearted,  ready  to  serve  in  time  of  trouble,  and  fair  and 
above-board  in  every  contest.  I  hope  the  great  Judge 
when  He  enters  up  the  charges  against  him  will  not  for 
get  the  credit  side  of  his  account.  Till  that  day  of 
reckoning,"  he  concluded,  brokenly,  "may  he  sleep 
soundly;  and  if  he  dreams,  let  it  be  of  the  days  when 
we  were  happy  cadets  on  furlough  down  the  river,  in 
the  glory  of  June." 

With  face  still  deeply  lined  with  emotion,  Raymond 
432 


Munro's    Last    Word 

made  his  way  through  the  silent  crowd  and  down  to 
the  bungalow,  eager  to  return  to  Ann  and  Louis. 

"It  is  a  strange  thing,"  he  began,  as  soon  as  he  had 
closed  the  door  behind  him,  "how  an  erratic,  disorderly 
life  like  poor  Hollie's  appeals  to  us  all.  Theoretically, 
we  believe  in  order ;  but  when  a  man  is  brave  enough,  or 
reckless  enough,  to  ride  across  lots,  how  grateful  we  are 
to  him.  At  bottom,  we  are  all  gypsies  and  feudal 
knights  and  Comanches.  That's  the  fact.  What  other 
man  in  this  district  could  have  brought  forth  such  a 
crowd?" 

"I  was  thinking  of  that,  too,"  replied  Ann.  "From 
every  reasonable  point  of  view,  he  was  a  destructive 
force,  and  yet  my  heart  bled  to  see  him  die.  He  and 
his  like  are  the  Robin  Hoods  of  our  day.  I  suppose 
there  were  a  great  many  people  at  the  funeral?" 

"An  immense  number — the  whole  camp  and  sur 
rounding  country.  Every  cow-boy  within  fifty  miles 
is  here.  The  procession  will  be  well  worth  your  seeing. 
Louis  must  see  it." 

When  the  sound  of  a  triumphant  march  announced 
the  coming  of  the  funeral  train,  Raymond  folded 
Louis  carefully  in  his  blankets  and  bore  him  to  the  win 
dow,  and  there  held  him  in  order  that  he  might  see  the 
passing  of  the  captain  of  the  vedettes. 

Louis,  wide-eyed,  absorbed,  intent,  uttered  no  word, 
but  gazed  in  silence,  one  slender  arm  flung  over  Rob's 
neck.  He  hardly  breathed,  so  deep  was  his  interest. 

Ann  looked  upon  it  all  with  steadily  expanding  com 
prehension  of  life's  mystery.  In  the  clear  sunlight  the 
band  appeared,  stepping  alertly,  glittering  in  brass  and 
gay  with  scarlet  and  silver.  Behind  them,  two  and 
two,  leading  a  host  of  horsemen,  rode  nearly  a  hundred 
*s  433 


Hesper 

of  the  dead  man's  guard,  a  look  of  stern  melancholy  on 
each  brown  face,  proud  of  their  place  of  honor,  proud 
of  their  shining  weapons,  their  horses,  their  dangling 
latigoes  and  decorated  bridles.  They  ceased  to  fight 
when  their  leader  died,  but  many  of  them  were  of  a 
mind  with  him — they  scorned  to  flee,  they  remained 
to  do  the  last  honors  to  their  captain,  reckless  of  law. 

Behind  these  cavaliers  of  the  plain  rolled  a  few  car 
riages,  with  Hanley  and  Claire  and  two  or  three  others 
of  the  dead  man's  intimates  in  position  as  mourners. 
The  officers  of  the  union  were  conspicuous  by  their  ab 
sence,  but  an  army  of  miners  of  all  nationalities  and 
all  characters,  led  by  Kelly  and  Adams  on  horseback, 
tramped  behind.  Many  of  them  could  not  speak  the 
dead  man's  name,  but  each  dimly  felt  that  he  had 
somehow  died  in  their  service,  and  that  he  was  a  good 
man,  and  so  they  lent  their  work-twisted  bodies  to 
the  deeply  significant  pageant.  Last  of  all  came  the 
sight-seers  from  Bozle  and  the  Springs,  in  all  sorts  and 
conditions  of  vehicles,  vulgar  and  insincere  for  the  most 
part,  but  adding,  to  Ann's  eyes,  a  final  touch  of  tragic 
pathos. 

"I  hope  Jack  can  see  this,"  she  said,  almost  invol 
untarily.  "He  would  enjoy  it  so." 

"He  can,"  replied  Louis,  without  taking  his  big  eyes 
from  the  scene  outside.  "I  know  he  can.  How  they 
loved  him!"  he  sighed.  "I  wish  I  had  known  him 
better." 

Raymond  exchanged  looks  with  Ann.  "You  see — 
the  heart  of  the  lawless!" 

It  passed  at  last,  and  the  stillness,  the  brilliancy  of 
the  springlike  afternoon  settled  back  upon  the  peak  as 
the  air  closes  behind  the  flight  of  an  eagle.  The  heart  of 

434 


Munro's    Last    Word 

the  revolt  went  away  in  Munro's  small,  straight  body. 
The  vedettes  broke  up  into  squads  of  twos  and  threes 
and  rode  away,  never  to  reassemble.  The  miners 
climbed  weakly  back  to  their  haunts  on  the  street,  there 
to  chant  in  sad  or  furious  voices  the  praises  of  their  dead 
leader.  The  sight-seers  returned  to  their  own  petty 
affairs  of  the  day,  putting  aside  the  warning,  the  sig 
nificance  of  the  ceremony;  but  on  the  sensitive  brain 
of  a  dreaming  boy  the  lights  and  shadows  of  that  pro 
cession  fell  with  lasting  power,  and  some  day  the  world 
may  learn  how  much  of  the  mystery  of  life  and  death 
he  drew  from  that  ludicrous,  picturesque,  and  solemn 
intermingling  of  mourning  miners  and  bronzed  and 
reckless  mountaineers. 


XXXI 
Ann    Returns    to    New    York 

IN  a  few  days  Louis  was  able  to  be  removed  to  the 
valley,  but  his  recovery  was  slow,  and  notwithstand 
ing  imperative  letters  from  his  mother,  Mrs.  Allard,  Dr. 
Braide  strongly  advised  against  his  return 'to  the  East. 
As  a  proprietor  in  the  mine,  Louis  was  now  doubly 
anxious  to  be  on  the  ground,  but,  being  prevented 
from  that,  he  called  on  Rob  for  frequent  personal  re 
ports,  which  the  senior  partner  was  very  glad  to  make. 

These  visits  were  delicious  experiences  to  Raymond. 
There  was  joy  in  laying  aside  his  miner's  clothes  for  a 
day,  to  loaf  in  shining  linen  and  patent-leather  shoes. 
It  was  a  delight  to  be  a  guest  at  Jeannette's  well- 
filled  table,  but  to  sit  beside  Ann  in  the  cart,  or  to 
take  dinner  with  her  at  the  Casino  of  a  Saturday  night 
and  listen  to  the  Hungarian  band,  restored  his  youth; 
and  Ann,  to  her  astonishment,  found  an  almost  equal 
pleasure  in  these  simple  entertainments.  There  was  so 
little  to  criticise  in  her  lover's  attitude  —  his  self-re 
straint  was  most  admirable,  his  reserve  a  satisfaction. 
It  was  plain  that  he  would  wait  for  her  decision  in  this 
way  indefinitely,  and  this  deep-seated  courtesy  and  rea 
sonableness  touched  her;  and  yet  she  grew  no  nearer 
to  a  decision  as  the  weeks  went  by. 

At  last  the  day  came  when  she  decided  to  leave  Louis 
436 


Ann    Returns    to    New   York 

in  his  care  and  return  to  her  mother,  desperately  deter 
mined  to  test  her  new-found  happiness  and  her  love, 
though  she  did  not  put  it  thus. 

Raymond  received  the  announcement  of  her  plan 
with  outward  composure,  though  he  said,  sadly:  "Now 
that  I  know  more  about  your  life  in  the  East,  I  am  not 
so  sure  I  can  make  you  happy,  even  with  a  million. 
I've  lost  my  ambition  to  be  rich,  for  what  could  I  give 
you,  who  have  had  everything?" 

"I  am  not  the  great  heiress  you  think;  and,  besides, 
I've  eaten  too  much  honey  and  preserves." 

"Very  well.  Then  you  know  where  you  can  feast  on 
corn-bread  and  bacon."  Then  he  became  very  grave. 
"I  am  going  to  flee  to  my  mountain.  I  can't  bear  to 
see  you  take  the  train,  and  I  will  not  say  good-bye.  I 
will  wait  as  patiently  as  I  can  till  you  send  for  me,  and 
if  you  feel  that  you — that  I  am  not  fitted  to  make  you 
happy,  I  will  not  complain."  And  they  parted  with 
only  a  clasp  of  hands. 

On  the  journey  eastward  Ann  had  a  great  deal  of 
time  to  think,  and  the  farther  she  descended  upon  the 
plain  the  more  certain  it  seemed  that  she  was  leaving  it 
all  behind — Raymond,  the  good  Barnetts,  and  all — 
and  a  sadness  which  lay  beyond  tears  seized  upon  her. 
She  felt,  too,  that  Louis  was  growing  out  of  her  life — 
her  control.  He  would  soon  be  a  man  in  the  world  of 
men. 

However,  she  approached  New  York  on  a  glorious 
morning  in  May,  and  the  North  River  was  a  glitter 
ing  spread  of  leaping  wavelets  tossed  into  the  sun 
light  by  a  brisk  southwesterly  wind,  and  her  spirits 
rose  with  a  bound. 

437 


Hesper 

With  a  sense  of  boldness  and  daring  she  pushed  for 
ward  amid  a  crowd  of  working-folk  on  the  upper  deck, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  irregular  mass  of  the  city  looming 
against  the  misty  sky,  notched,  jagged,  like  a  line  of 
sand-worn  cliffs  speckled  with  the  holes  of  some  rock- 
piercing  sea-birds.  The  innumerable  water-craft  start 
ing  and  returning  to  the  base  of  these  walls  were  like 
intent  beetles  in  pursuit  of  prey. 

Hardly  more  than  half  a  year  of  sidereal  time  had 
rolled  between  her  going  and  her  return,  but,  meas 
ured  by  the  changes  within  herself,  ten  times  the  length 
of  these  days  had  passed  over  her  head,  each  laden  with 
experiences  so  transforming  that  she  had  now  the 
aloofness  of  a  traveller  returning  to  his  native  land 
after  long  wanderings  in  strange  countries.  New  York 
Bay,  opening  to  right  and  to  left,  teemed  with  sugges 
tion,  took  on  new  grandeur.  It  was  now  a  glitter 
ing  gateway — not  the  end,  but  the  beginning  of  the 
republic.  Its  relation  to  the  vast  interior  States  stood 
revealed. 

She  had  never  seen  the  city  at  this  early  hour,  and 
the  types  of  worn  and  hurrying  women  crowding  the 
gang-plank,  the  throngs  of  working-men,  sallow  and  a 
little  sullen,  menaced  her  as  she  mingled  with  them  for 
a  moment  before  entering  a  carriage. 

"How  dispirited  and  sickly  they  all  look,"  she  said 
to  herself. 

Raymond  was  in  her  thought  constantly.  "How 
would  all  this  seem  to  him?"  she  asked  herself.  "After 
the  plains,  these  crowds  would  be  intolerable.  I  can't 
think  of  him  here.  He  belongs  out  there."  In  such 
wise  her  thought  ran  on  in  a  tumult  of  readjustment. 

The  morning  was  deliciously  cool  and  very  brilliant 
438 


Ann    Returns    to    New   York 

with  sunlight,  and  as  she  rolled  through  Madison 
Square  and  entered  upon  the  lower  avenue  the  girl's 
throat  filled  with  a  sob  of  joy.  The  generous,  good 
mountains  had  not  merely  lured  her  to  themselves, 
teaching  her  to  love  them,  they  had  restored  her  sanity 
and  the  power  to  enjoy  the  glint  of  sunbeams  anywhere 
in  the  world.  She  was  elate,  throbbing  with  recov 
ered  love  of  life,  with  the  regained  joy  of  being  young, 
and,  best  of  all,  she  found  herself  looking  back  each 
moment  with  undiminished  affection  to  the  high  peaks. 
The  wealth  and  power  of  her  native  city  could  not  de 
throne  the  sovereign  majesty  of  Mogalyon  and  the 
Hesperean  wall. 

The  shopkeepers  were  drawing  the  curtains  to  dis 
close  their  innumerable  jewels,  their  exquisite  pottery, 
their  rare  carvings  and  weavings  from  all  over  the 
world;  but  these  heaped  wares  did  not  lessen,  they  only 
enhanced,  the  beauty  of  the  fir-tips  traced  against  the 
sunset  sky.  These  rugs,  the  choicest  work  of  the 
Orient,  only  served  to  make  the  more  exquisite  the 
turf  of  the  mountain-peaks,  and  to  enrich  the  brown 
carpet  of  needles  beneath  the  canon  pines.  Into  this 
moment  of  elation  the  thought  of  her  mother  intruded 
with  chilling  effect. 

The  complete  lack  of  sympathy  between  mother  and 
daughter  dated  from  the  day  of  her  birth,  for  she  had 
never  known  maternal  care.  From  the  time  she  could 
speak,  paid  servants  and  teachers  guided  her  in  femi 
nine  ways — the  cold  and  smileless  woman  who  gave  her 
birth  was  a  being  of  another  world.  No  caresses  were 
ever  invited  by  the  mother  and  none  were  ever  offered 
by  the  child — even  the  companionship  of  the  gentle,  im 
pulsive  father  was  cut  short,  or  interdicted  altogether, 

439 


Hesper 

during  melancholy  periods  by  his  wife's  exacting  de 
mands. 

When  Louis  came  the  father  revolted,  refusing  to 
be  forever  at  the  whim  of  his  wife.  He  gave  up  attend 
ance  upon  her  and  devoted  himself  to  the  children. 
This,  Ann  afterwards  recalled,  was  the  beginning  of 
her  mother's  morbid  seclusion.  Then  came  board 
ing-school,  from  which  she  was  called  to  receive  her 
father's  last  words,  and  these  admonitions,  gently 
spoken,  with  a  sad  sweetness  of  tone,  like  the  dying 
hum  of  a  bell,  she  had  never  forgotten.  She  had  been 
a  mother  to  Louis,  and  she  was  coming  back  now  with 
the  consciousness  of  a  duty  well  performed ;  but  as  she 
approached  the  towering  wall  of  the  great  apartment 
hotel  in  which  her  mother  made  her  home,  she  lost 
courage,  and  the  resolution  she  had  made  to  forget 
their  differences  and  to  confide  her  perplexities  died 
away. 

Mrs.  Allard  received  her  in  bed,  reading — she  was 
forever  reading  useless  books — and  impassively  said, 
4 'What  an  unearthly  hour  to  arrive!" 

Ann  took  her  lax  hand  and  bent  and  kissed  her  chill 
lips.  ''How  are  you  feeling,  mother?"  she  asked,  ten 
derly. 

"Miserably,  and  Mr.  Allard  is  away,  as  usual,"  she 
replied,  with  a  bitter  frown.  "Your  letters  were  very 
few  —  very  unsatisfactory.  Why  did  you  not  return 
sooner?" 

Instantly  Ann's  old  feeling  of  sullen  anger  and  re 
sentment  resurged  like  a  tide  and  threatened  to  bury 
all  her  good  resolutions,  but  she  struggled  with  and 
rose  above  her  resentment  and  said,  gently,  "  I  didn't 
intend  to  neglect  my  duty —  I  wrote  as  often — " 

440 


Ann    Returns    to    New   York 

Her  mother  interrupted  her  as  she  entered  upon  a 
more  extended  confidence.  "Go  to  your  room  and 
bathe,  and  get  your  breakfast.  We  will  talk  over 
Louis'  extraordinary  plans  afterwards." 

Her  own  rooms,  at  the  back  of  the  suite,  faced  the 
morning,  and  the  sun  was  flooding  them  with  light  as 
she  entered.  The  familiar  sense  of  reaching  a  safe 
harbor  returned  to  her  as  she  closed  the  door  behind 
her.  Everything  was  in  place,  even  her  maid  Sarah, 
who  responded  to  her  cordial  greeting  with  words  of 
admiration.  "  How  well  you  are  looking!  Your  color 
is  wonderful." 

"Thank  you,  Sarah.     How  have  you  been?" 

"Not  very  well,  miss.  It's  been  lonesome  without 
you.  I  do  hope  you'll  not  leave  me  behind  again." 

Each  article  was  as  Ann  had  left  it ;  even  the  book 
she  had  put  down  last  had  been  lifted,  dusted,  and  put 
back  in  the  same  spot  every  day.  Her  return  was  like 
a  return  of  the  dead,  so  devotedly  had  the  room  been 
kept  against  her  need. 

First  of  all  the  bath  allured,  and  when,  refreshed 
and  rerobed,  she  yielded  herself  to  the  care  of  her 
maid,  she  seemed  so  settled,  so  deep  in  her  old-time 
way  of  life,  that  the  peaks  and  their  shadows  began 
swiftly  to  recede.  The  immediate  future  troubled  her. 
At  about  eleven  her  mother  would  send  for  her  and 
ask  for  a  confession.  This  would  not  be  an  easy  or 
pleasant  interview,  but  it  was  coming. 

"  She  will,  of  course,  sneer  at  Robert,  and  deny  every 
one  of  Louis'  requests.  She  has  probably  included  me 
in  her  plans  for  the  summer.  If  we  go  abroad,  it  will 
be  the  same  wearisome  round  of  noisy  hotels,  the  same 
complaints,  the  same  controversies.  If  we  stay  at  home,. 

441 


Hesper 

it  will  be  Lenox  and  Bar  Harbor  —  and  mother.  It  is 
shameful  of  me,  but  she  depresses  me.  And  how  lone 
ly  and  wretched  she  is  now!  She  is  so  strong  and  yet 
so  inert,  she  saps  my  very  life.  And  so  the  summer 
will  pass — to  what  good  purpose  ?  If  I  could  influence 
her — but  I  can't.  Oh,  I  wanted  to  tell  her  everything 
— I  need  her  love — but  I  am  afraid." 

With  a  tap  on  the  door  the  maid  announced  a  tele 
gram. 

Ann  clutched  at  the  little  yellow  envelope  and  tore 
it  open  swiftly.  It  was  from  Robert. 

"Love  and  greeting  from  all.  Louis  quite  himself, 
Wants  to  go  back  to  the  mine.  Will  hold  him  at  the 
Springs  for  a  week  longer — miss  Hesper  horribly. 

"ROBERT." 

Instantly  the  heart-sick  girl  returned  in  memory  to 
the  Springs.  Closing  her  eyelids,  she  lifted  an  inward 
gaze  to  the  glory-covered  head  of  old  Mogalyon.  The 
vivid  sunlight  was  smiting  fierce  against  his  breast, 
but  on  his  brow,  like  a  vast  turban  of  purple  and  snow- 
white,  a  cloud  rested.  They  were  all  on  the  wide, 
vine -clad  veranda  which  opened  upon  the  west — 
sweet  Jeannette,  jovial  Don;  Louis,  impatient,  restless, 
lyric  of  speech,  and  Robert —  How  sympathetic  they 
all  were  —  how  good  and  loving!  "I  have  no  other 
friends  so  vital  to  me,"  she  admitted. 

Opening  her  eyes  to  the  present,  she  again  took 
thought  of  the  coming  interview  with  her  mother, 
whom  at  the  moment  she  pitied.  Her  step-father  was 
away  —  he  was  always  away  —  but,  as  he  had  never 
presumed  in  any  domestic  matter  at  any  time,  the 
discussion  lay  between  her  mother  and  herself.  "How 

442 


Ann    Returns    to    New    York 

can  I  make  her  understand  that  this  journey  in  my 
father's  footsteps  has  developed  in  me  the  saving 
grace  of  his  legacy  to  me.  The  old,  purposeless  routine 
is  waiting  for  me.  I  feel  it.  This  high-colored,  arti 
ficial  hotel  is  a  malign  influence.  I  cannot,  I  must  not 
sink  into  my  groove  again." 

The  interview  with  her  mother  was  quite  as  painful 
as  she  had  feared.  She  began  by  demanding  to  know 
why  Louis  was  not  with  her,  and  when  Ann  re-explain 
ed  bluntly  that  he  would  not  come,  Mrs.  Allard  looked 
at  her  daughter  in  cold  silence  for  a  full  minute,  and 
then  said:  "There  is  something  about  you  that  I 
don't  understand.  You  look  well;  but  Louis  should 
come  home.  That  climate  doesn't  agree  with  him." 

"On  the  contrary;  his  illness  is  due  to  his  own  im- 
petuousness  in  riding  up  into  the  mountains  without 
sufficient  clothing." 

"What's  the  meaning  of  this  talk  of  his  about  buying 
a  mine?" 

Ann  explained  this  as  patiently  as  she  could,  and 
when  Mrs.  Allard  contemptuously  said,  "He  shall  do 
nothing  of  the  kind,"  Ann  broke  out: 

"Mother,  you  don't  seem  to  understand  that  Louis 
is  no  longer  a  child,  and  that  he  is  growing  very  dif 
ficult  to  manage.  I  used  my  best  powers  to  persuade 
him  to  come  home  and  consult  with  you,  but  he  re 
fused;  furthermore,  the  doctor  advised  against  his 
coming  just  now." 

"I  don't  care  what  the  doctor  said;  my  plans  are 
settled.  I  am  to  spend  the  summer  in  the  Tyrol,  and  I 
want  Louis  with  me.  The  air  there  is  better  for  him 
than  the  raw  winds  of  that  crazy  mining-camp.  I  wish 
you  would  write  him  or  telegraph  him  at  once  to  come." 

443 


Hesper 

"You  are  not  asking  me  to  go  with  you,  I  hope?" 

"Certainly  you  are  going." 

Ann  turned  white  and  tense  and  sat  for  a  long  time 
in  silence,  a  deep  humming  sound  in  her  ears,  well 
knowing  that  the  hour  of  revolt  had  come.  Her  voice 
was  hoarse  with  emotion  when  she  spoke,  "Mother, 
you  must  not  make  any  more  plans  that  include  me." 

Mrs.  Allard's  eyelids  opened  in  surprise.  "Why 
not?" 

"Because  I  am  to  be  married  very  soon." 

Mrs.  Allard  seemed  stunned  for  a  moment,  but  she 
recovered  and  asked,  ironically,  "Are  you,  indeed? 
How  very  considerate  of  you  to  tell  me!  May  I  ask  to 
whom?" 

"You  may.     His  name  is  Robert  Raymond." 

"One  of  those  Western  miners?" 

"Yes,  a  miner,  but  an  Eastern  man." 

"Now  I  understand  Wayne  Peabody's  glum  face. 
I  infer  that  this  Mr.  Raymond  is  rich?" 

"No,"  replied  Ann,  quite  simply;  "he  works  with  his 
hands  among  his  men." 

"  It's  like  you  to  throw  yourself  away.  Do  you  think 
I  will  consent  to  such  a  piece  of  folly?" 

Ann  was  coldly  calm.  "Fortunately  your  consent 
is  not  required."  Then  the  thought  of  how  all  this 
would  sound  to  her  lover  moved  her,  and  with  tears  of 
entreaty  in  her  voice  she  cried  out:  "Oh,  mother,  don't 
let's  quarrel,  wait  till  you  see  Robert!  You  cannot 
help  but  admire  him— he  is  so  big  and  manly.  I  came 
here  to  ask  your  help,  your  advice.  I  wanted  to  con 
fide  in  you.  I  want  your  love,  your  sympathy." 

"You  have  it— my  profound  sympathy.  But  you 
cannot  have  my  consent  to  such  a  foolish  act." 

444 


Ann    Returns    to    New    York 

Ann  rose,  wounded,  bleeding,  but  no  longer  in  a  mood 
for  confidences  or  entreaties.  "Further  controversy 
is  useless,  mother.  I  have  given  my  future  into  Robert's 
hands." 

Once  more  in  her  room,  she  caught  up  a  little  framed 
portrait  from  her  desk.  "Oh,  my  beautiful,  poetic, 
dear  father,  now  I  know  why  you  loved  the  mountains, 
and  why  you  sickened  and  died  here  in  the  city !  You 
gave  me  a  precious  heritage,  and  I  have  only  just 
found  it.  I  will  live  as  you  would  have  me  live,  dear," 
She  touched  the  picture  to  her  lips  as  a  sign  of  her  dedi 
cation  of  herself  to  the  new  life.  "You  would  have 
liked  Robert,  and  I  love  him!" 

With  bosom  heaving  with  passionate  resolution,  she 
hurried  to  her  desk  and  wrote  a  telegram  in  big,  strong 
letters,  as  if  to  make  an  imperishable  record: 

"  Robert,  come  for  me.     I  am  waiting.         HESPER." 


THE    END 


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'  The  book  takes  its  title  from  a  saying  of  Lord  Byron's  :  "  Three 
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"  Suffused  with  the  rosy  light  of  romance." — New  York  Times. 

HEARTS  COURAGEOUS.  With  illustrations  by  A.  B. Wenzell. 

"  Hearts  Courageous"  is  made  of  new  material,  a  picturesque  yet 
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THE  RECKONING.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers.   With  illustra 
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Mr.  Chambers  has  surpassed  himself  in  telling  the  tale  of  the  love 
of  Cams  Renault  and  Lady  Elsin  Grey  in  this  historical  novel  of  the 
last  days  of  the  Revolutionary  War.  Never  was  there  dainter  heroine 
«r  more  daring  hero.  Never  did  the  honor  of  a  great-hearted  gentle 
man  triumph  to  such  an  extent  over  the  man.  Never  were  there 
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THE  SHUTTLE,  By  Frances  Hodgson  Burnett 

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This  great  international  romance  relates  the  story  of  an  Ameri 
can  girl  who,  in  rescuing  her  sister  from  the  ruins  of  her  marriage 
to  an  Englishman  of  title,  displays  splendid  qualities  of  courage, 
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times,  the  character  of  Bettina  Vanderpoel  stands  alone  in  litera 
ture.  As  a  love  story,  the  account  of  her  experience  is  magnificent. 
The  masterly  handling,  the  glowing  style  of  the  book,  give  it  a 
literary  rank  to  which  very  few  modern  novels  have  attained. 

THE  MAKING  OF  A  MARCHIONESS, 

By  Frances  Hodgson  Burnett 

Illustrated  with  half  tone'engravings  by  Charles  D.  Williams. 

With  initial  letters,  tail-pieces,  decorative  borders.     Beautifully 

printed,  and  daintily  bound,  and  boxed. 

A  delightful  novel  in  the  author's  most  charming  vein.  The 
scene  is  laid  in  an  English  country  house,  where  an  amiable  Eng 
lish  noblemar  i?  the  centre'of  matrimonial  interest  on  the  part  of 
both  the  English  and  Americans  present. 

f  ^Graceful,  sprightly,  almost  delicious  in  its  dialogue  and  action. 
It  is  a  book  about  which  one  is  tempted  to  write  ecstatically. 

THE  METHODS  OF  LADY  WALDERHURST, 

By  Francis  Hodgson  Burnett 
A  Companion  Volume  to  "  The  Making  of  a  Marchioness." 

With  illustrations  by  Charles  D.  Williams,  and  with  initial 
Tetters,  tail-pieces,  and  borders,  by  A.  K.  Womrath.  Beautifully 
printed  and  daintily  bound,  and  boxed. 

"The  Methods  of  Lady  Walderhurst"  is  a  delightful  story 
which  combines  the  sweetness  of  "  The  Making  of  a  Marchioness, 
with  the  dramatic  qualities  of  "  A  Lady  of  Quality."     Lady  Wal 
derhurst  is  one  of  the  most  charming  characters  in  modern  fiction. 

VAYENNE,  By  Percy  Brebner 

With  illustrations  by  E.  Fuhr. 

This  romance  like  the  author's  The  Princess  Maritza  is  charged 
to  the  brim  with  adventure.  Sword  play,  bloodshed,  justice  grown 
the  multitude,  sacrifice,  and  romance,  mingle  in  dramatic  episodes 
that  are  born,  flourish,  and  pass  away  on  every  page. 

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A  SIX-CYLINDER  COURTSHIP,  By  Edw.  Salisbury  Field 

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A  story  of  cleverness.    It  is  a  jolly  good  romance  of  love  at 
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while  a  happy  gift  of  humor  permeates  it  all. 

"  The  book  is  full  of  interesting  folks.  The  patois  of  the  garage  is 
used  with  full  comic  and  realistic  effect,  and  effervescently,  cul 
minating  in  the  usual  happy  finish." — St.  Louis  Mirror. 

AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW, 

By  Gene  Stratton-Porter  Author  of  "FRECKLES " 

With  illustrations  in  color  by  Oliver  Kemp,  decorations  by 
Ralph  Fletcher  Seymour  and  inlay  cover  in  colors. 
*  The  story  is  one  of  devoted  friendship,  and  tender  self-sacrific 
ing  love;  the  friendship  that  gives  freely  without  return,  and  the 
love  that  seeks  first  the  happiness  of  the  object.  The  novel  is 
brimful  of  the  most  beautiful  word  painting  of  nature  and  its 
pathos  and  tender  sentiment  will  endear  it  to  all. 

JUDITH  OF  THE  CUM3ERLANDS,  By  Alice  MacGowan 

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No  one  can  fail  to  enjoy  this  moving  tale  with  its  lovely  and  ar 
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and  its  variety  of  characters,  captivating  or  engaging  humorous 
or  saturnine,  villains,  rascals,  and  men  of  good  will.  A  talfe  strong 
and  interesting  in  plot,  faithful  and  vivid  as  a  picture  of  wild 
mountain  life,  and  in  its  characterization  full  of  warmth  and  glow. 

A  MILLION  A  MINUTE,  By  Hudson  Douglas 

With  illustrations  by  Will  Grefe. 

Has  the  catchiest  of  titles,  and  it  is  a  ripping  good  tale  from 
Chapter  I  to  Finis — no  weighty  problems  to  be  solved,  but  just  a 
fine  running  story,  full  of  exciting  incidents,  that  never  seemed 
strained  or  improbable.  It  is  a  dainty  love  yarn  involving  three 
men  and  a  girl.  There  is  not  a  dull  or  trite  situation  in  the  book. 

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:  0  N  JUROR'S  HOUSE,  By  Stewart  Edward  White 
DruMtfindMfertktttifeaf  "THE  CALL  OF  THE  NORTH." 

Illustrated  from  Photographs  of  Scenes  from  the  Play. 
C**f*rar's  ffimst  is  a  Hudson  Bay  trading  port  where  the  Fur 
Trading;  Company  tolerated  no  rivalry.  Trespassers  were  sen 
tenced  to  **La  Longue  Traverse  "—which  meant  official  death. 
How  Ned  Trent  entered  the  territory,  took  la  lonrtu  traverse, 
and  the  journey  down  the  river  of  life  with  the  factor's  only 
daughter  is  admirably  told.  It  is  a  warm,  vivid,  and  dramatic  story, 
and  depicts  the  tenderness  and  mystery  of  a  woman's  heart. 

ARIZONA  NIGHTS.  Ey  Siewart  Edward  \\Tute. 

With  Olustratioas  by  N.  C.  Wyeth,  and  beautiful  inlay  cover. 

A  series  of  spirited  tales  emphasizing  some  phase  of  the  life  of 

fln>  ¥^^rf»t  |ffaiff*f  and  desert,  ***d  all,  taken  together,  forming  a 

single  sharply-cut  picture  of  fife  in  the  far  Southwest.    All  the 

tonic  of  the  West  is  in  this  masterpiece  of  Stewart  Edward  While. 

THE  MYSTERY. 

By  Stewart  Edward  White  and  Samuel  Hopkins  Adams 
Will*  iflttsi  lations  by  Will  Crawford. 

For  breathless  interest,  concentrated  excitement  and  extraordi 
narily  good  storytelling  on  aD  counts,  no  more  completely  satisfy 
ing  romance  has  appeared  for  years.  It  has  OCTJII  voted  the  best 


LICHT-r'.NCIRLD  C1NTRV.      Bv  David 
V--.:- 


y.r   .   - -  ..-•-.-  -------  .--.-.r  ---'•    -r-  -:-•-•-  :— :,-  .---  :--.--=• 

companies  as  his  field  of  battle:  the  salons  of  the  great  Fifth 

•-.    •:'-.-   --:,-     -•--    :-..-   v.r   ir:-::.^-.    • --      :       -  -1  -    .    -:    .:    ~r--. 


the  two  thins  w 


THE  SECOND  GENERATION,    By 


•  '•.:.•.  —  :-  :  n  :  .  :    :  :     .  .  7  ::..::        .  .  i.  .  .  ;  :      i~  i  .  r.  .  :-.  .   :  ~_  -  •  t  r  . 
It  is  a  story  that  proves  how,  in  some  cases,  the  greatest  har 


children,  is  to  leave  them  his 


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NEW  CHRONICLES  OF  REBECCA, 

By  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin    With  illustrations  by  F.  C.  Yohn 

Additional  episodes  in  the  girlhood  of  the  delightful  little  hero 
ine  at  Riverboro  which  were  not  included  in  the  story  of  "  Rebecca 
of  Sunnybrook  Farm."  and  they  are  as  characteristic  and  delight 
ful  as  any  part  of  that  famous  story.  Rebecca  is  as  distinct  a  crea 
tion  in  the  second  volume  as  in  the  first. 

THE  SILVER  BUTTERFLY,  By  Mrs.  Wilson  Woodrow 

With  illustrations  in  colors  by  Howard  Chandler  Christy. 

A  story  of  love  and  mystery,  full  of  color,  charm,  and  vivacity, 
dealing  with  a  South  American  mine,  rich  beyond  dreams,  and  of 
a  New  York  maiden,  beyond  dreams  beautiful — both  known  as 
the  Silver  Butterfly.  Well  named  is  The  Silver  Butterfly  !  There 
could  not  be  a  better  symbol  of  the  darting  swiftness,  the  eager 
love  plot,  the  elusive  m'ystery  and  the  flashing  wit. 

BEATRIX  OF  CLARE,  By  John  Reed  Scott 

illustrations  by  Clarence  F.  Underwood. 

A  --irited  and  irresistibly  attractive  historical  romance  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  boldly  conceived  and  skiifuiiy  carried  out.  In 
the  hero  and*  heroine  Mr.  Scott  has  created  a  pair  wnose  mingled 
emotions  and  and  alternating  hopes  and  fears  will  find  a  welcome 
in  manv  lovers  of  the  present  hoar.  Beatrix  is  a  fascinting  daugh 
ter  or  live. 

A  LITTLE  BROTHER  OF  THE  RICH, 

By  Joseph  Medill  Patterson 

Frontispiece  by  Hazel  Martyn  Trudeau,  and  illustrations  by 
Walter  Dean  Goldt  . 

Tells  the  -  ind  is  a  vivid  and  truthful  pic 

ture  of  society  and  stage  life  written  by  one  who  Is  himself  a  con 
spicuous  member  of  the  Western  millionaire  class.  Full  of  grim 
satire,  caustic  wit  and  flashing  epigrams.  "  Is  sensational  to  a  de 
gree  in  its  them-.  ::s  treatment,  lashing  society  as  it  was 
never  scourged  before." — Xeia  York  Sun. 

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NEDRA,  by  George  Barr  McCutcheon,  with  color  frontispiece 
and  other  illustrations  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

The  story  of  an  elopement  of  a  young  couple  from  Chicago,  who 
decide  to  go  to  London,  travelling  as  brother  and  sister.  Their  diffi 
culties  commence  in  New  York  and  become  greatly  exaggerated 
when  they  are  shipwrecked  in  mid-ocean.  The  hero  finds  himself 
stranded  on  the  island  of  Nedra  with  another  girl,  whom  he  has 
rescued  by  mistake.  The  story  gives  an  account  of  their  finding 
some  of  the  other  passengers,  and  the  circumstances  which  resulted 
from  the  strange  mix-up. 

POWER  LOT,  by  Sarah  P.  McLean  Greene.    Illustrated. 

The  story  of  the  reformation  of  a  man  and  his  restoration  to  self- 
respect  through  the  power  of  honest  labor,  the  exercise  of  honest  in 
dependence,  and  the  aid  of  clean,  healthy,  out-of-door  life  and  sur 
roundings.  The  characters  take  hold  of  the  heart  and  win  sympathy. 
The  dear  old  story  has  never  been  more  lovingly  and  artistically  told. 

MY  MAMIE  ROSE.      The   History   of  My  Regeneration,  by 
Owen  Kildare.     Illustrated. 

This  autobiography  is  a  powerful  book  of  love  and  sociology.  Reads 
lake  the  strangest  fiction.  Is  the  strongest  truth  and  deals  with  the 
stery  of  a  man's  redemption  through  a  woman's  love  and  devotion. 

JOHN  BURT,  by  Frederick  Upham  Adams,  with  illustrations. 

John  Burt,  a  New  England  lad,  goes  West  to  seek  his  fortune  and 
finds  it  in  gold  mining.  He  becomes  one  of  the  financial  factors  and 
pitilessly  crushes  his  enemies.  The  story  of  the  Stock  Exchange 
manipulations  was  never  more  vividly  and  engrossingly  told.  A  love 
story  runs  through  the  book,  and  is  handled  with  infinite  skill. 

THE  HEART  LINE,  by  Gelett  Burgess,  with  halftone  illustra 
tions  by  Lester  Ralph,  and  inlay  cover  in  colors. 

A  great  dramatic  story  of  the  city  that  was.  A  storv  of  Bohemian 
life  in  San  Francisco,  before  the  disaster,  presented  with  mirror-like 
accuracy.  Compressed  into  it  are  all  the  sparkle,  all  the  gayety,  all 
the  wild,  whirling  life  of  the  glad,  mad,  bad,  and  most  delightful  city 
of  the  Golden  Gate. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,         -         -         New  York 


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Re-issues  of  the  great  literary  successes  of  the  time,  library  size, 
printed  on  excellent  paper — most  of  them  finely  illustrated.  Full  and 
handsomely  bound  in  cloth.  Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 

CAROLINA  LEE.    By  Lillian  Bell.    With  frontispiece  by  Dora 
Wheeler  Keith. 

Carolina  Lee  is  the  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  of  Christian  Science.  Its 
keynote  is  "  Divine  Love"  in  the  understanding  of  the  knowledge  ©f 
all  good  things  which  may  be  obtainable.  When  the  tale  is  tola!,  the 
sick  healed,  wrong  changed  to  right,  poverty  of  purse  and  spirit 
turned  into  riches,  lovers  made  worthy  of  each  other  and  happily 
united,  including  Carolina  Lee  and  her  affinity,  it  is  borne  upon  the 
reader  that  he  has  been  giving  rapid  attention  to  a  free  lecture  on 
Christian  Science ;  that  the  working  out  of  each  character  is  an  argu 
ment  for  "  Faith ;"  and  that  the  theory  is  persuasively  attractive. 

A  Christian  Science  novel  that  will  bring  delight  to  the  heart  of 
every  believer  in  that  faith.  It  is  a  well  told  story,  entertaining,  and 
cleverly  mingles  art,  humor  and  sentiment 

HILMA,  by  William  Tillinghast  Eldridge,  with  illustrations  by 
Harrison  Fisher  and  Martin  Justice,  and  inlay  cover. 

It  is  a  rattling  good  tale,  written  with  charm,  and  full  of  remark 
able  happenings,  dangerous  doings,  strange  events,  jealous  intrigues 
and  sweet  love  making.  The  reader's  interest  is  not  permitted  to  lag, 
but  is  taken  up  and  carried  on  from  incident  to  incident  with  ingenu 
ity  and  contagious  enthusiasm.  The  story  gives  us  the  Graustark 
and  The  Prisoner  of  Zenda  th  rill,  but  the  tale  is  treated  with  fresh 
ness,  ingenuity,  and  enthusiasm,  and  the  climax  is  both  unique  a^id 
satisfying.  It  will  hold  the  fiction  lover  close  to  every  page. 

THE   MYSTERY    OF    THE    FOUR    FINGERS,  by  Fred  M. 
White,  with  halftone  illustrations   by  Will  Grefe. 

A  fabulously  rich  gold  mine  in  Mexico  is  known  by  the  picturesque 
and  mysterious  name  of  The  four  Fingers.  It  originally  belonged 
io  an  Aztec  tribe,  and  its  location  is  known  to  one  surviving  descendant 
—a  man  possessing  wonderful  occult  power.  Should  any  person  un«  t 
lawfully  discover  its  whereabouts,  four  of  his  fingers  are  mysteriously 
removed,  and  one  by  one  returned  to  him.  The  appearance  of  the* 
final  fourth  betokens  his  swift  and  violent  death.  ^ 

Surprises,  strange  and  startling,  are  concealed  in  every  chapter  cl 
this  completely  engrossing  detective  story.  The  horrible  fascination 
of  the  tragedy  holds  one  in  rapt  attention  to  the  end.  And  through 
it  runs  the  thread  of  a  cnrious  love  story. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,         -         -         New  York 


FAMOUS  COPYRIGHT  BOOKS 

IN  POPULAR  PRICED  EDITIONS 

Re-issues  of  the  great  literary  successes  of  the  time,  library  size, 
printed  on  excellent  paper — most  of  them  finely  illustrated.  Full  and 
aaadsomely  bound  in  doth.  Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 

THE  CATTLE  BARON'S  DAUGHTER.    A  Novel.  By  Harold 
Bindloss.     With  illustrations  by  David  Ericson, 

A  story  of  the  fight  for  the  cattle-ranges  of  the  West.  Intense  in 
terest  is  aroused  by  its  pictures  of  life  in  the  cattle  country  at  that 
critical  moment  of  transition  when  the  great  tracts  of  land  used  for 
grazing  vrere  taken  up  by  the  incoming  homesteaders,  \vith  the  in 
evitable  result  of  fierce  contest,  of  passionate  emotion  on  both  sides, 
and  of  final  triumph  of  the  inevitable  tendency  of  the  times. 

WINSTON  OF  THE  PRAIRIE.    With  illustrations  in  color  by 
W.  Herbert  Dunton. 

A  man  of  upright  character,  young  and  clean,  but  badly  worsted 
in  the  battle  of  life,  consents  as  a  desperate  resort  to  impersonate  for 
a  period  a  man  of  his  own  age — scoundrelly  in  character  but  of  an 
aristocratic  and  moneved  family.  The  better  man  finds  himself  barred 
from  resuming  his  old  name.  How,  coming  into  the  other  man's  pos 
sessions,  he  wins  the  respect  of  all  men,  and  the  love  of  a  fastidious, 
delicately  nurtured  girl,  is  the  thread  upon  which  the  story  hangs.  It 
is  one  of  the  best  novels  of  the  West  that  has  appeared  for  years. 

THAT  MAINWARING  AFFAIR.      By  A.  Maynard  Barbour, 
With  illustrations  by  E.  Plaisted  Abbott. 

A  novel  with  a  most  intricate  and  carefully  unraveled  plot.      A 

naturally  probable  and  excellently   developed  story  and  the  reader 

will  follow  the  fortunes  of  each  character  with   unabating  interest 

*    the  interest  is  keen  at  the  close  of  the  first   chapter  and  i~- 

creases  to  the  end 

AT  THE  TIME  APPOINTED.    With  a  frontispiece  in  color, 
by  J.  H.  Marchand. 

The  fortunes  of  a  young  mining  engineer  who  through  an  accident 
loses  his  memory  and  identity.  In  his  new  character  and  under  his 
new  name,  the  hero  lives  a  new  life  of  struggle  )a.nd  adventure.  The 
Tolume  will  be  found  highly  entertaining  by  those  who  appreciate  a 
thoroughly  good  story. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,         -         -         New  York 


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